Measure of a Time Lord
by Dark Aegis
Summary: What is the measure of a man who walks in eternity? And, if that measurement is gone, what does that make him? A Time Lord? Or nothing at all? A Ninth Doctor, Rose Tyler adventure
1. Chapter 1: Prisoner

**Title:** Measure of a Time Lord  
**Authors:** Gillian Taylor  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Characters:** Rose/Nine  
**Summary:** What is the measure of a man who walks in eternity? And, if that measurement is gone, what does that make him? A Time Lord? Or nothing at all?  
**Spoilers:** Gallifrey go Boom, Father's Day  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.  
**Archive:** Sure, just let me know.

**A/N:** Thanks & hugs, as always, to my lovely betas NNWest & WMR. Written for the Rose Tyler Ficathon for SCAngel, who requested:

1.) Rose figuring out something significant on her own  
2.) Doctor (Nine or Ten) realizing he's seriously underestimated Rose's abilities  
3.) Rose stuck in a harem with full harem girl apparel, in which the Doctor sees her at least once.

* * *

**"Measure of a Time Lord"  
By Gillian Taylor**

**Chapter 1: Prisoner**

It was only at night that Rose thought the city might be considered beautiful. In the dusty shadows of the amber moon, lights flickered in the darkness. Somewhere beyond the castle walls, someone was happy. Someone loved. Someone hurt. Someone cried. Someone lived. Someone died.

Sometimes she forgot what that was like, and it frightened her. In her gilded cage of silk and perfume and money, she couldn't remember what it was like to be human. To be loved. All she knew was fear and hope. Fear that, this time, the King would come for her. That, this time, it would be her turn to return with bruises, with bloodstains across her body.

Hope was the only reason for her existence now. She had hope. Hope that he'd come for her. Hope that she'd see him again. Hope that she could feel him again. Hope that she could just see his face, grinning that grin of his, looking at her fondly.

It was all she had left.

She refused to listen to the others when they told her that her hopes were futile. The Doctor wouldn't come. 'They never do,' they would sagely tell her as they kept their eyes lowered in the face of her disillusionment. When a man was forced to walk through the Ka Ra Nor, he lost himself, lost a piece of his soul.

They told her that she was alone now. Alone, save for the mercy of their Lord and Master. The Doctor had forgotten her because that was what had always happened. Rebels, dissenters, and those who denied their Lord what he wanted were always punished, always sent through the Ka Ra Nor. Those rebels would forget why they had wanted to fight. What they were fighting for. They'd forget everything and everyone they cared for.

It was a lie. It had to be. She refused to let even a glimmer of doubt take root within her. She wouldn't listen because the others didn't know him. They couldn't know him. They didn't know the man who had touched a thousand worlds, a thousand different times, in a thousand different ways. They didn't know the Time Lord. They didn't love him as she did.

They said he wouldn't come.

She refused to listen.

He would come. He would always come for her. Because that was who he was. That was what he did. He'd remember her.

He had to.

She gripped the edge of the window frame tightly, her knuckles turning white with the effort. They'd told her that she had to accept her existence, her fate, on Yervanos. They said she had no choice. Either pine away, waiting for a rescue that would never come, or survive.

She chose to survive. She chose hope. But sometimes, late at night, she wondered. What if they were right? What if he'd never come?

She'd tried escape but, each time, she was captured and beaten. Each time, she was warned that one more attempt and she wouldn't return to her new posh life. Her last attempt, she'd been warned that should she try again, she'd be killed or sentenced to the Ka Ra Nor. Sometimes she wondered if that might be better than this life. At least then she'd be with him.

But he wouldn't remember her. Nor she him.

She bowed her head and stared at her hands. She couldn't let threats cow her. Escape was still an option. She'd just have to be a bit more...original about it than blatantly walking out the front door. At least that time she'd almost got past the gates before someone had stopped her. If she could get back to the TARDIS, there might be something in there that could help the Doctor. Maybe. Possibly.

_Not that you have a chance of being able to operate anything in there without him._

She firmly pushed the thought aside. The TARDIS was her best chance. She just had to think. The opportunity would present itself. Somehow, someway, she'd get out of the castle. She'd get back to the TARDIS and rescue the Doctor.

How could she rescue him when she didn't even know where he was? And, even if she did find him, how could she convince him to come with her? He wouldn't know her.

"I hate this place," she murmured under her breath, loath to wake the others who shared the room with her.

She knew that some of the women shared her thoughts about Yervanos. They, too, had lost someone to the Ka Ra Nor. However, unlike her, they had lost their hope long ago.

The women in King Tulern's harem fit into two moulds. One included those who were broken, battered and torn. They were the ones who were convinced that hope was a fruitless emotion and were resigned to their fate. They accepted the beatings and the punishment without complaint and moved listlessly through their chambers. They lived, but they were as good as dead for all the life they had within them.

She didn't want to end up like that. She couldn't end up like that. So she clung onto the second mould. Hope still burned, escape was possible, and she believed in the power of life. Where there was life, there was hope. She could find the Doctor. She could save him. But, first, she had to save herself.

It was all a matter of time.

With a weary sigh, she turned from the window and returned to her bed. Sleep was the only escape she could rely on at the moment. And, perhaps, in her dreams she might determine another way of freeing herself from this fate.

* * *

She tossed and turned on the bed, her mind strangely active though she was lost in slumber. Dreams were her means of escape though, sometimes, she wished she could escape even them…

_She could see the shimmer of the temporal shields above her; yet, a view that should've been reassuring was anything but. The shields were beginning to fail under the bombardment. Time bombs, temporal loops, conventional attacks, and other such weaponry shouldn't have such an effect. Not here. Not ever._

_However, she had to admit that their time had finally come. The last great Time War. And Gallifrey was on the losing side._

_"Doctor," a woman's voice said and she turned, somehow unsurprised to hear that name applied to her._

_Romana joined her, her very bearing implying resignation and grief. "You know what has to be done."_

_"There has to be another way." She denied, shaking her head. "Something else we can do."_

_"There isn't. Doctor, you have your orders."_

_"Romana..."_

_Romana drew herself to her full height. Thanks to the peculiarities of regeneration, the Lady President was a few inches taller than she. "No, Doctor. This isn't a request from a friend. This is the order of your President. The controls have been mounted in your TARDIS and the coordinates have been set. You must release the Eye."_

_The Eye of Harmony. Rassilon's star. Omega's triumph. Gallifrey's destruction. It was an order, but she never believed in following orders when there was another choice. Something else that could be done. But there wasn't. She knew that as well as Romana did. _

_"Romana..." she replied, but there was only defeat in her voice. No choice. For the future of the universe, for every living being that she held dear, she had to choose. Hobson's Choice, indeed._

_Romana rested a hand briefly upon her shoulder. "I know this is a great burden, Doctor. You are the only one I can trust with this. Please, go now. The shields won't last much longer."_

_Tears burned her eyes as she pulled the unresisting Lady President into a fierce hug. This was the end. Had to be. No more Daleks. No more Time Lords. No more Doctor._

_She let Romana go and brushed past her, running toward the familiar and comforting blue police box that was her home. She had no choice. Oh, god, no choice at all._

_The TARDIS roared in protest as it dematerialised into the Vortex and rematerialised amongst the fleet. Even her beautiful ship knew what was to come. She held the ship steady, staring blindly at the pulsing temporal rotor, her hand on the newly installed controls. One press of a button and Gallifrey would be gone, swallowed before its time by the raging fury of the Eye of Harmony._

_Romana had such faith in her. Faith that she'd do what was necessary. And she would. Rassilon help her, she would._

_On the screen, she could see the temporal shields flicker and fail, leaving Gallifrey open to the Dalek bombardment. _

_No choice. No choice at all._

_She pressed the button in the wake of a scream of denial, sorrow and anguish. She saw the fractures that ripped across the surface of her orange homeworld. She heard the screams of a thousand Gallifreyans in her mind as the planet pulsed once, twice, three times, before it imploded._

_Fire raged across the solar system. Dalek ships, Gallifreyan ships, her TARDIS. Nothing was spared the fire. It was an end._

_And, finally, in the quiet aftermath as the agony of regeneration began to claim her body, she realised the terrible, terrible truth._

_It wasn't meant to be her end._

_Never before had the label of Ka Faraq Gatri held such truth. Destroyer of worlds. Bringer of darkness._

_Even death turned from her._

Her heart – _hearts_? – pounding in her chest, she awoke with a scream on her lips. And, like every night since she'd been here, her dreams faded into nothing more than the faint aftertaste of ashes and pain.

In another lifetime, she could've gone to _him_ for comfort. But, now, there was no one to comfort her other than herself. She should return to sleep, let her dreams reclaim her, but the pounding of her heart refused to slow.

"Doctor," she whispered, letting his name grant whatever consolation it could. When sleep finally reclaimed her, she didn't dream.

* * *

Another day, another moment exposed to the leering gazes of the King and his guards, and another instance of a damning blush spreading across her barely covered skin. It apparently was her lot in life not to wear more than strips of gauze and strategically placed bits of cloth and jewellery.

She sighed, brushing back an errant strand of hair in an automatic gesture as she focused on scrubbing the laundry. This was the only time during the day that the women could safely talk, despite their being 'on show' at any time for the King. She wasn't certain that she could've survived without this minor aspect of normality otherwise. Then again, she had to. She had no choice.

_No choice…_

The words resonated in her mind, almost as if there was something that she was missing. Something…important? Her brow furrowed as she searched her memories, but each time she drew close to an answer, the recollection of despair, guilt, and grief erased what progress she had made. Vaguely, she wondered if there was something wrong with her.

She belatedly realised that her hands had stilled in their task and she quickly resumed her scrubbing, hoping that none of the guards had noticed her lack of work. Even taking a break was a punishable offence on Yervanos.

"You dreamed again."

Erana's words broke into her reverie and she winced reflexively. The other woman was sympathetic, of course. Then again, they all were. Everyone had nightmares. Except hers tended to be of the more noisy kind.

"I'm sorry," she said, though there was little she could apologise for. She couldn't control her dreams. Then again, how could she control them when she couldn't even remember them? If she concentrated, all she could recall was death and ashes.

"You have no control over it," Erana replied with a faint shrug, echoing her thoughts. "Yet I'd thought you were past those dreams."

She smiled bitterly. "Maybe I never will be." If only she could remember what they were. They might be something important. Maybe. Possibly.

"You dwell on the past far too much, Rose Tyler," Izikela said from beside her. The other woman's industrious movements caused dirty water to splash upon the clothes that she was trying to clean. "Sorry, it was an accident," Izikela said, though her expression contradicted her words.

Biting back a curse, she moved a short distance away from the other woman. Accidentally on purpose was far more likely with Izikela. However, it wasn't worth an argument and the resulting punishment. The King preferred his women docile. Anything else resulted in beatings and, in at least one case she knew of, death.

"Let her be, Izikela," Erana said. "You know that dreams are the only-"

"Escape?" Izikela interrupted with a sneer. "Yes, I can see why. Rose Tyler hasn't learned her place."

She bit her tongue, refusing to rise to the bait. Izikela fancied herself the leader of the harem and conducted herself as if she were the queen of her little domain. She'd only be contributing to what was already a rather large ego if she said anything in response.

"She doesn't even deny it. This is your life, girl. Accept it," Izikela snarled.

"Leave her alone," Erana protested.

"So quick to the defence, Erana. Be careful or I might decide that you, too, must learn your place."

She let the words wash over her. They didn't matter. Izikela didn't matter. There were far more important things to consider than the other woman's need for ego-stroking. She could hear the idle laughter and talk of the men in the room – they were relaxed, not expecting anything out of the ordinary, and certainly not expecting an escape attempt. There were guards on the doors – two per door, not including the King's men - but, if she was swift, she could elude them.

Knowledge came swiftly on Yervanos. Including the mistaken perceptions of the men on the planet. Women were docile and weak-minded creatures, meant for admiration and slavery, according to the King. Well, he had never met Rose Tyler, former shop-girl, and the last Time Lord's companion.

_I know this is a great burden…_

She shook her head, chasing away the fragmented memory. The words were familiar...and important? Yes, important. But why? No. No time.

Escape must be her...

Izikela's sudden movement – and a jab of an elbow - startled her enough that she dropped the clothes that she'd just finished rinsing back into the dirty water. "What the hell are you-?" Her question was cut off as she realised Izikela's intent.

The guards were coming to inspect their work. If she didn't have a pile of clean clothes at least half a yard– or, as they called it on Yervanos, three dectares - tall, she'd be punished. A quick glance at her pile revealed that her pile barely reached two dectares.

She bent to her task, moving quickly and desperately. She couldn't be punished, not again. They'd watch her even more carefully then. She had already gained the label of a trouble-maker. If something else happened, she'd have to modify her escape plan. No.

She wouldn't let it happen. Couldn't let it happen.

No, wait. She knew exactly what she could do. Distractions were a dying art, at least the decent ones were. Now, if there was something useful about, something that could be used to…there.

Perfect. Or, as the Doctor liked to say, fantastic.

The King was well known not only for his appreciation of women, but for his menagerie of rare and endangered animals from across the universe. The gentler of those creatures were allowed to roam free amongst the women as they attended to their duties to King and planet.

Which meant that all she had to do was make use of her options. Something told her that a three-tonal sound would cause some of those animals to stampede. It was, after all, rather hard to tell how many dectares someone had cleaned when avoiding getting trampled.

But how could she make such a sound? What did she have available? She could hear the crunch of gravel as the guard walked behind the other women, pausing to carefully inspect the clothes. Time was – which was a rather annoying habit – running out.

Izikela looked at her and she could sense the other woman's anticipation and almost-glee as the guard drew closer. She had no idea what she'd done to cause such a reaction, what she'd said, but she knew all too well that, eventually, everyone would have their comeuppance. Izikela just deserved it a bit more than most.

Right. Enough thinking. If she could just whist… That was it. Whistling! Oh, sure, she hadn't whistled in years, but it was like riding a bike. Once learned, never forgotten. She pursed her lips and tried to create the proper sounds. However, all she could manage was two tones. She ran out of breath before she could manage the third note.

She abandoned her efforts with a muffled curse. It wouldn't work. That was when she realised the guard was right behind her.

"Rose Tyler," the guard intoned and she noticed Izikela draw herself up straighter, a look of triumph crossing her face. "You have not completed your task."

This would not defeat her. Shooting Izikela a venomous look, she straightened her spine and turned slowly, making sure that she kept herself braced should she need to move quickly. "And 'ow can you tell that just from lookin'?" she asked, tilting her head so she could look up at the guard. "Vision does lie, you know. Least that's what a friend of mine told me once upon a time."

Rose suppressed the pang of sorrow at the thought. She missed him terribly. If she closed her eyes, she could remember that day on Nistalia Minor. She could almost remember the sound of his voice, the expression on his face...

_Though he didn't look at her, she could feel his burning gaze. "What do you see, Rose?"_

_She smiled as she gazed at the activity around them. Alien or human, funfairs were all the same. "I see families, children, a funfair full of happy people, clowns and rides, and animals. I see people enjoying themselves."_

_Then she frowned as something else registered on her senses. There was something not exactly right about the fair. Everything looked normal, seemed normal. But what was wrong?_

_She heard him sigh as he placed the tips of his fingers against her temple. In an instant, the funfair shimmered and vanished, a mirage on an otherwise unremarkable landscape. "Now what do you see?" he asked._

_"Nothing," she replied, astonished. That was when she realised what had been missing in her perception of the funfair. There hadn't been any sound._

_As his fingers fell away from her temple, the funfair reappeared. "Vision lies, Rose."_

It was a lesson she never forgot.

She heard the other women gasp in shock at her words and she realised her mistake the instant the guard reached for his whip. Impertinence and asking questions of males was forbidden. Double punishment would be her reward.

Well, it would be if they could catch her.

The next few moments passed as if she were in a dream, disassociated from her body. She could hear the crack of a whip as it broke free of its restraints. She felt the slight change in pressure as the slender leather strap sliced through the air toward her.

And then, somehow, she moved out of the way at the last second, and she could feel the breeze of the whip's passage. It cracked against the stonework that surrounded the water basin, scattering fragments across the floor.

With a growl of anger, the guard reached for her and, once again, she managed to evade him. Somehow her body knew what moves to make, what way to twist, how to block, and, mostly importantly, what junction of flesh and bone would cause a humanoid male to collapse, senseless to the floor.

She didn't bother to waste time staring at the unconscious man. Already she could hear the shouts and protests of the King and the other men in the background.

_No choice…_

She reasoned that it was as inevitable as the sunrise or the sunset. Even separated from the Doctor, it seemed that her fate would always be to run for her life. She could hear the pounding footsteps of the guards that were hot on her heels and she resolutely put on an extra burst of speed.

She fled past luxurious furnishings, startled servants, rich tapestries, and artwork without a sideways glance. If she could just escape, just get out of the palace, she could try to hide in the city, try to get back to the TARDIS. At least there she'd be safe and, from there, she could find – and rescue – the Doctor.

The 'how' could wait until she got to that particular point of her not-so-well-formed plan.

They were right behind her and there was no way to avoid them. Perhaps if she just…yes. Straight out the front doors again. It generally was the least well guarded location in a palace – after all, who'd boldly walk out the doors when they knew what the punishment would be? Then again, who'd boldly walk out the doors for a second time and see if she could escape that way?

"Me," she breathed the word as she turned the corner. The palace doors should be just ahead.

That was, of course, when she discovered that she was surrounded. Guards in front of her, pointing rather vicious looking weapons in her direction. And her friends from the courtyard skidded to a stop behind her, hemming her in.

She grimaced and slowly raised her hands in surrender. "Too obvious?" she asked, silently cursing her choice. There was always next time, right?

She felt something hit the back of her head and she fell to her knees, stunned. "Remind me to tell the Doctor next time I-"

Another blow to her skull sent her spiralling into unconsciousness and her words died, unspoken, upon her lips.

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2: Fragmented

**Chapter 2: Fragmented**

His life, his entire existence was defined by fragments.

Fragments of memories scattered to the winds and his fragmented existence on a pastoral world. In the first few days, he'd tried to leave the small farming community, convinced that something important lay just beyond the hills. However, each time, he was forced back by the others who shared his particular fate. After the days faded into weeks, his escape attempts grew fewer but he hadn't stopped planning.

He knew that there was more to life than this. More to life than farming. More to life than repairing the various implements that the others used in the fields. He wanted to explore, to see what there was to see, to climb the first hill, then the next, and then the next until the farming community was nothing more than a not-so-fond memory.

There was something missing in this life. He knew that he wasn't meant for this meagre existence of working from sunup to sundown in the smithy. In moments of rest, he found himself carving strangely familiar shapes in fragments of wood. A strangely shaped dog, a box, a symbol that looked like a stylized number '8'. These creative efforts were scattered about the smithy, hidden in corners where they would not be disturbed by the others.

If they knew he still dreamed of escape, of another life, he'd be punished. He'd seen it happen before with Tomas, with Renan, with Wieler. But it didn't matter. He couldn't stop thinking about it. There was more to existence than this...farce. But the memories weren't there. All he had was a name to go by. A single name.

Doctor.

Yet it was nothing more than a word wrapped in an enigma. Was that his name? A title? A meaningless word? Why did he feel two hearts beating beneath his chest when he knew that the others only had one? Why was he different? What was it that made him unique? Physiology alone, or was there more to it than that?

It was only at night that he could truly find a means of escape. It was only by watching the slow spiral of the stars in the sky that he felt free. Somehow, they were all familiar to him. He knew them, almost as if he'd been there. The others accused him of being far too fanciful - the only existence they had on Yervanos was here. They'd always been here, would always be here. This was their fate. Their lot in life.

Yet he wasn't as convinced. It was the small things, the small recollections, the carvings, and his refusal to accept what his senses told him.

_Reality lies._

But how could he know that?

This reality was all he could remember beyond the fragments of memories that came to him at odd moments or within his dreams. And, if those truly were his memories, did he want to know that there was more to his existence than this smithy, this village, this world?

_Fire blazed in his mind, roaring through his synapses…_

He shook his head, braced himself against the wooden bench, and sighed as he fought against the onslaught of the indistinct recollection. Why could he only remember pain and death? Surely there was something more worthwhile in his former life than that. He was convinced that there had to be.

Enough. Wool-gathering didn't become him. He was a... whatever he was. And he was certain that this wasn't him. "Who am I?" he asked the silent smithy, staring blankly at the tools of his trade.

As if in answer, one of the double doors creaked open and Firin shuffled through the gap in the odd half-shuffle, half-step that he'd adopted since his accident. A backhoe had caught his leg a few months earlier and had damaged it enough that he now had a pronounced limp. It was only through the use of crutches - crutches that he'd fashioned the first night after he'd arrived (or was that the first night his memories started?) - that the man could move about the village.

"Thought I'd find you here, Doctor," Firin said.

This, he knew, couldn't be good. "It's late, Firin. What's wrong?" he asked.

"Wrong? Why do you always assume that something's wrong? Can't I just visit my friend without…" Firin's voice trailed off as he seemed to catch his sceptical expression. "Oh, all right. You caught me, man. Can't get anything past you, now can I? Doctor, Reane found one of your carvings."

"If he'd wanted a toy, I could've come up with something appropriate. Think he'd fancy a miniature wheelbarrow?" he asked, folding his arms as he leaned against a bench.

"This is serious. He brought it before the village council. They'll be sending someone around tomorrow morning to inspect the smithy. If they find another carving, you know what'll happen," Firin warned, his expression sympathetic.

It didn't bother him, not really. They'd find what they wanted to find. And, if they found one of his carvings, so be it. He wasn't about to run away from anything, which included the council.

Council? Something about colourful robes and strange headdresses came to mind when he thought of the word. And sadness? "Nothing like the threat of a beating to get one's hearts pounding, you know."

Firin shook his head. "Doctor, I've done all I can. Please, get rid of the carvings. Before it's too late."

He shrugged. "If they want to oust me, Firin, they will. With or without those carvings. There's nothing you, nor I, can do about it. And that's okay. That happens. Admittedly, I'd prefer not to find myself locked up or in the stockade anytime soon, but that's just a little quirk of mine." At least, he assumed it was a quirk. That was the problem with not _knowing_. Not knowing who he was, really, beyond a blacksmith. That was just an occupation. A task. A duty. A job. It wasn't him.

_Who am I?_

He shook off the thought and smiled maniacally at Firin. "'Sides, it's been a while since I've really been challenged around here. A legal fight, or whatever Reane wants, would be a nice diversion."

Firin folded his arms and sighed. "You know as well as I do that it doesn't work that way. The councillors-"

"Are full of themselves," he interrupted, completing the sentence. He felt almost as if he were referring to something other than the village council. "It isn't enough for them to manage this little village of ours, they 'ave to micromanage us as well. 'S not right an' that's not how this is supposed to be." He wasn't certain who he was referring to. Himself and his lack of self-identity or the petty bureaucrats that ran the village.

"That's the way it's always been. You can't change it. They are as set in their ways as you are. No, don't look at me like that. You are. You strive to fight against what you see as injustice because that's the way you are. That's what makes you _you_. And that's why I am honoured to consider you my friend. There are far too few like you." Firin smiled and reached out to touch his shoulder. "But heed my warning, my friend. Please."

He sighed and nodded, though it was a reluctant gesture. He'd heed Firin's warning. Of course he would. And then he'd dismiss it off-hand. It was hard to muster enough concern to even manage to twist his expression into something vaguely approaching worry over the inevitable fight between him and the council. There were far more important things to attract his attention.

Figuring out what had happened to his memories would do for a start.

Firin smiled, but he suspected that the other man knew he had no intention of following his request. "I'll leave you for the evening."

"'Night, Firin," he said, smiling faintly.

"Oh, and, Doctor?" Firin asked, his hand resting on the door handle. "Take care." His friend's eyes were intense as he looked at him, almost as if he were easily read. That thought bothered him, but sometimes he had to admit that he was rather predictable. In some things. Well, most things.

"I will," he replied as he watched the other man leave the smithy.

Alone once more, he gave a passing thought to gathering his carvings and secreting them away somewhere. Perhaps under the loose board by the stoker or under a pile of straw. Almost as soon as the thought occurred, he dismissed it. As he'd told Firin, they'd find a way to condemn him with or without evidence. If they wanted it badly enough, it'd happen.

That was what happened when one was a bit of a rebel.

_Rebel…_

The word resonated strangely within him and he shook his head. Yet another mystery. Words that struck a chord within him, vague recollections of words or thoughts or deeds but nothing solid. A flash of blonde hair that he thought was familiar. An ache that settled beneath his hearts at the thought of the word 'home'. A flash of silver that made him reach for a poker and realise that it wasn't right. It should've been smaller, with a blue light at the end. But he couldn't remember why.

He suspected that he knew now why people went mad. With nothing to measure or weight himself against, with no memories to judge who he was, what did that make him? What was he? Different, yes. An alien, most likely. But what else? What else was there?

His hands curled into fists and he braced himself against one of the workbenches. He knew that he had a tendency to brood. An inclination to analyse a situation and come up with a solution that tended to work. And a need to move, to explore, to see what there was to see.

He knew that there had to be more to life than this.

It hadn't taken him long to discover that he wasn't the only one with gaps in his memory. There were others who'd suffered that same fate, which meant - at least in his eyes - that something was terribly wrong with the village. Memories didn't just up and disappear. They didn't just vanish. Sure, a blow to the head could cause amnesia, but a plague of amnesia?

It wasn't a communicable disease.

But, when it came to this particular life, it seemed that it was.

With a sigh, he dismissed his thoughts. He could brood about it later. First, he had to dampen the fire for the night and move anything flammable away from the flames. He knew...

_Flames. Burning higher and higher, swallowing thousands of souls, millions. And they all screamed._

...that it only took a spark to burn down the village. He might be many things, but an arsonist wasn't one of them.

Then, perhaps, he could try to sleep. He felt tired enough for that. It had been several days since he'd allowed himself rest. And, judging by Firin's comments, it wasn't likely that he'd be able to sleep for some time to come.

He'd try. He'd curl himself into the tiny mattress that he'd claimed as a bed - when he dared to sleep - and let the dreams take him. Maybe tonight he wouldn't dream. Wouldn't have any nightmares. Somehow, he doubted it.

* * *

He pulled the light sheet over himself and closed his eyes. And, almost immediately, he fell into a deep sleep...

_Not again. Please, no, not again. No, no, no. A mantra, repeated in the darkness, but it never stopped. It never, ever stopped._

_A world, burning, ever burning, accompanied by the dying scream of millions of lives snuffed in an instant. Because of him._

_Flashes of faces, of people loved, of people lost. Names forgotten, names unspoken. So many flashes, so many - years? - contained within his brain._

_Other faces. His face? Perhaps, but eight distinct faces glared at him balefully._

_Rose! Rose, Rose, Rose. A name? A person? A quest? A Rose was the most precious of all._

_A blue box that wasn't a blue box. It contained a world, an entire world within its four walls, bigger within than without. A home? Yes, a home. His home? Perhaps._

_Death chased after him on swift wings, touching everything left in his wake._

_A scream of denial, a wish, a hope, a prayer. His universe, his entire self, burned in fire but why?_

_Why?_

_Blood on his hands, in his mouth, in his footsteps. Red, green, black, blue, silver. Colours defined by the atoms of their owner's existence but one thing remained the same. It was life. And it was death. And he was coated in it. Covered in it._

_Why?_

_Please, someone, anyone, tell him why? Why this pain? Why this nothingness? Why did he see these flashes of things that should mean everything to him but meant nothing at all?_

_Why?_

_Other faces, all different, but all inexplicably him. Each one familiar. Each one wrong. So, so wrong. And death. Always death. Age, force, poison, falling, burning in his veins, falling again, a shot, and fire. How could this be possible?_

_Why? Someone please? Why?_

_Thousands, millions, billions of people crying out. Pain, agony, torment. A thousand injustices, a thousand wrongs, a thousand deaths, a thousand pleas for help. His help? He couldn't remember._

_Why couldn't he remember?_

_Home? It was gone. Gone away, gone to dust, gone…where?_

_Time was fleeting, it was going away and he needed it. Needed it to stop. Needed it. Needed more. There was more, wasn't there? More than this?_

_What was life? Hope? Death? Existence? Pain?_

_Pain. Life was pain. His pain. The universe's. Everyone and everything._

_Everything went to dust._

_Except, it seemed, for him._

With a shout of denial, he opened his eyes and found himself lying on the floor next to the bed. Forcing himself into a sitting position, he sighed and cradled his head in his hands. It'd happened _again_. Why was this happening to him? Why did he have such horrific dreams?

Why was he so…so fragmented?

This, he decided, was killing him. Slowly but surely, he was dying. Bit by bit. Inch by inch. Moment by moment. Confined here, in this village. Constrained by law and prejudice. Held back by...

Oh, now wait a moment.

_Held back. _

He'd seen it before. With Tomas - the burly cook - who'd begun to create ever more elaborate pastries in shapes and styles that meant something only to him. Tomas had been punished, thrown in the stocks and finally shunned.

With Renan - the builder - who'd decided one day that he needed to build a specific house, in a specific shape, with a specific hidden doorway. Renan had disappeared the day the building was completed. He suspected, though he had no physical evidence, that the man was dead. The house burned down a short time later.

With Wieler - the writer - who'd written poem after poem about war, hatred, grief, guilt. The words had reverberated within him and, shortly before the last word was struck upon his last poem, Wieler was gone.

Now it was him. His carvings. His knowledge. Oh, clever, clever council. They thought they'd get away with it. Thought they could stop him. Stop the knowledge. Stop the _memories_. That was the link.

Memories.

Those who dreamed, those who expressed themselves creatively through their work, were punished. Because...

"They don't want us to remember!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing in the almost-silent smithy. But why? Why would they want to keep them from remembering their pasts?

He ran a hand across his head - startled, as always, that his hair wasn't long and curly but short and straight - and sighed. He had no answers, only questions. He felt trapped, but how could he escape?

Last time he'd tried boldly walking out of the village, he'd been dragged back. Warned. Punished, though lightly, for his transgression. The council had told everyone that lived there that there was nothing else beyond their borders. Just grass and sky and eventual death.

He knew that the village produced far more food than it could consume on its own. The harvests were always large, always plentiful - or so the others said. He'd never - or had he? - seen a harvest or participated in one. But he'd seen the crops. Seen how many grains, how many vegetables, and how many plants they produced. A village the size of this one could survive on a quarter of the fields that were tilled, on a third of the animals that were bred. Yet he'd never seen anything go to waste.

What if, and this was a dangerous thought, but what if it was all linked? The missing memories, their confinement to this village, and the over-production of food? What if...

"It's a prison," he said in sudden realisation. This was a prison. And, though it was killing him, he had to know. Had to find out. Had to understand.

"But if this is a prison, why am I here?" he asked the still silent room. He didn't feel as if he were evil, had done something worth punishment.

_Blood on his hands, in his mouth, in his footsteps. _

No. It was impossible. This entire planet was impossible. This life was impossible.

"I'm not me." The words were spoken adamantly. And it was true. He wasn't himself because he didn't know who he was. There were eight other faces that were/might/could be himself as well. There were fragments of memories in his head, overwhelming him, crowding out his thoughts until everything was as much of a jumble as his life. It was as much a mystery as the village, as the rules and regulations, and the overproduction of food that was never truly evident though he knew it to be true.

He stood, brushing imaginary dust and debris from his trousers. He needed to learn more and the only way to do that would be to try his hand a little bit of villainy. Breaking and entering should do nicely. And, if he were trying to hide something, he wouldn't keep the information at his office. He'd keep it as close to himself as possible. Which gave him a starting point. Namely, the Head Councillor's house.

Casting a glance at the dirty window that was barely covered by a ratty curtain, he gauged the time to be approximately three hours before dawn. Which was good. Very good. There shouldn't be anyone about at this particular hour, so he could move through the village unseen. Which was, to his mind, even better.

Besides, if he were to be persecuted tomorrow, he might as well deserve it. With a manic grin, he automatically grabbed something from beside his bed and slipped it into his pocket. Then he paused, pulling the object out again and staring at it in shock. It was one of his carvings. But why had he decided that a carving of something that looked like a high-tech stick would do him any sort of good?

Yet another mystery.

With a sigh, he returned the carving to its place and grabbed a few tools - a pick and some sturdy wire - and headed for the door. It shouldn't take too long. The village's houses tended to fit a standard mould. Just a quick dash across the commons, ducking into a few dark alleyways along the way, and he'd be there.

Simple. Easy. No problem.

He paused for a moment, his hand resting on the doorknob. Was this the correct course of action? Was he doing the right thing?

"Yes," he told himself firmly. He had to be. This wasn't right. None of it. Memories were important, his memories were important. Didn't matter if he were some sort of rebel or villain or whatever. He didn't care. He just wanted to know.

He wanted an identity beyond 'the Doctor'. That was a label. Nothing more. Not him.

And, perhaps, by looking into this particular mystery he'd be able to find that out. Find out the truth. With firm resolve, he twisted the handle and pulled open the door…

…and found himself staring, dumbfounded, at five armed policemen lead by a grinning Reane. "Good morning, Doctor," Reane said. "Thought we'd pop by for a visit and have a bit of a look around."

One of the guards forced him inside with a pointed nudge of his sword. Not letting the treatment faze him, he smiled. "If all you wanted was a cuppa, you could've just asked. I'd've invited you in."

"Would you? Would you really?" Reane asked. "Somehow I doubt it, Doctor. Besides, this isn't a polite visit you know. You're under arrest."

"An' since when did you have that authority?" he replied, folding his arms before himself.

Reane grinned and, with a flourish, revealed the badge that proclaimed him to be a special investigator for the council. "Since yesterday. 'Bout nine o'clock. Right 'round the time Firin stopped by here to give you a warnin'."

Well, bollocks.

"I'd say congratulations were in order, but I'd be lyin'," he said, holding up his head as the policemen tore apart the smithy. A loud crash caused him to wince and he turned toward the offender. "Oi! Careful there, those are delicate!"

"Reane!" one of the policemen called, tossing an object toward him. It was the stylized number '8' again. He felt a pang somewhere beneath his hearts at the sight, though it wasn't that he was caught. It was the symbol itself.

"And there it is. Proof. You're coming with us." Reane's expression was one of triumph and vindication. He wondered just what he'd done to earn the other man's animosity, but it really didn't matter.

None of it did.

"An' if I say no?"

"You don't have a choice," Reane said and he felt one - no, two - swords press into his back.

"I think I got that impression." He sighed and held up his hands in surrender.

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3: The Oncoming Storm

**Chapter 3: The Oncoming Storm**

_Silence._

_It was silent and dark and it was hell. A hell in her mind where the echoes of screams reverberated within her. Even the TARDIS, her beautiful ship, screamed. Her centre console smoked and sparked, her soul in mourning for the loss of her kind. This was an end, but it wasn't. She could feel the start of the burn of regeneration, starting at the tips of her fingers and vibrating through her veins underneath the cracked velvet of her frockcoat._

_It should be the end. This should be her end, but it wasn't. She could still see them. See them burn. Hear them scream. See Gallifrey consumed, leaving nothing but rubble and her memories in its wake. And, soon, Time herself would begin to forget._

_Time would forget everything and everyone except for her. The Doctor. The last of her kind. Ka Faraq Gatri. Destroyer of Worlds. The Oncoming Storm. The killer of her people._

_A murderer._

_The silence alone was condemning. Where once thousands of voices murmured in the back of her mind, there was nothing. Nothing but an echoing quiet that was just as condemning as her memories._

_As condemning of the legends of the killer of her people. The saviour of some, the murderer of others. She was that killer. She was that single survivor who was condemned to walk through eternity alone._

_She'd caused it all. She'd done it all. And yet she continued to live, would live even as she died._

_Why? What was it all for?_

_She didn't deserve this facsimile of life. She would always deserve death. It'd been her longest companion, after all. The Doctor and death. But, now, in the hour of her greatest need, it still turned from her._

_She'd killed them. Killed them all. And now she burned. She burned just like Gallifrey, but unlike her home, unlike her people, she still lived._

_An anguished scream ripped from her throat, echoing in time with the wail of the TARDIS as she ricocheted through the Vortex toward a destination that only she knew. Everything was gone. There was nothing left._

_Nothing. Except for her._

_Rassilon help her, she'd killed them all._

_And the flames consumed her._

* * *

_Memory returned in spurts. A flash of a familiar face, a familiar voice, of gentle hands touching her regeneration-tender skin. Something had happened, something important, but she dodged the recollection with ease. She didn't want to remember. It was easier that way._

_The darkness that cocooned her mind was safer. It was a comfort to stay in this particular nothingness, despite the intrusion of words and sensations. She didn't want to wake up, didn't deserve it._

_And now she remembered it all. Remembered the death of everything. And how that reward had been denied her._

_She'd saved the universe but at what a cost? The price had been Gallifrey. Had been her people's future in exchange for the Daleks and she couldn't regret it. What did that make her?_

_Perhaps if she let herself drift her for a time - or for eternity - death would finally come for her. Hadn't she already done enough?_

_Now she was condemned. The lonely Time Lord, last of her kind, walking through eternity alone. Because there was nothing. Nothing in her head - the pain echoed. Nothing of her home - dust and rubble. Nothing of herself - regeneration had left her with what? Absolutely nothing._

_Once upon a time, she'd had a choice. A choice to stop the Daleks before they could become the evil that they were now. A chance to stop the war and save lives. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't muck about with that particular branch of history._

_This was her punishment._

_To live on, while everyone else, everything she'd loved, her Gallifrey, was gone. She'd fancied herself a rebel. Dared to defy the Council's whims to continue to travel through time and meddle with it and the lives of the people on the tiny blue planet that she'd adopted as a second home._

_So survives the rebel. The coward. The traitor. Ka Faraq Gatri had never been a truer name. She was the destroyer of worlds. No, one world that mattered the most. Her world. Her planet. Her people. Genocide at her command because there hadn't been any other choice._

_She'd gladly die, wanted to die, in punishment. Even Death turned her face from her and she was condemned. She was the lonely survivor of Gallifreyan legend._

_She should be dead._

_So she gladly welcomed the darkness that surrounded her, was her. Nothing was left. Grief welled within her, but she couldn't make a sound. She should be dead. But she wasn't._

_A human-warm hand touched her arm, sparking her awareness of her surroundings. She was lying on something soft - a bed?- and something was covering her - a duvet?- but where was she?_

_No. It was better to sleep, to ignore what had happened, to pretend that she didn't deserve this punishment._

_"Doctor, I know you can hear me, man. I don't know what happened, but you can't stay unconscious forever," a very familiar voice chided._

_The Brigadier, she identified him as. Of course it'd be him. But she ignored him. Ignored his words and, after a while, he left her side._

_She let herself drift, ignoring the passage of everything around her. She lived, she breathed, but she wanted to die. Then she felt Alistair return._

_"Doctor, if only you'd just talk to me…"_

"Brigadier."

The word was softly spoken, however it echoed within the small room. She opened her eyes, confused by both the strange sounds and the reason behind her saying that particular word. She was in a jail cell?

Oh, bollocks. Now she remembered.

She'd tried to escape but had been knocked out by the guards just a hair's breadth from freedom. Story of her life on Yervanos, that.

And, now, she was in a cell. A rather dark, dank, and stereotypical cell too. But that didn't matter, not really. Typical adventure, too. Get caught, thrown in jail, and the Doctor… Oh, the Doctor.

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear with an impatient gesture. There wouldn't be a rescue. Not from the Doctor. He didn't even remember her. She braced her head against the cold stone wall and sighed.

At least being locked up gave her a chance to think. To plot. To figure a way out of the particular mess she'd found herself in. And to, perhaps, determine what was wrong with her.

She knew things she shouldn't. She'd somehow managed to knock out a guard through some sort of martial arts - Aikido? No, _Venusian_ Aikido.

"How the hell do I know that?" she asked the empty room.

Impolitely, the room didn't respond, not that she'd expected that it would. And her thoughts were so…rambling. Especially with this cell being as bland as it was, it made it rather hard to think.

"Oi! Where's the originality? You could've at least added a painting or something." She waited for a moment, hoping that maybe someone would stop by. Maybe offer her a cuppa, a last meal, or a choice of how she wanted to die. At least it'd be some measure of entertainment.

Sadly, nothing happened. She was still stuck in a cell, on Yervanos, with nothing but dust for company.

_And, of course, there's the whole 'knowing things I shouldn't' problem. But, it isn't much a problem when it helps. Right?_

She shook her head. Now she was starting to _sound_ like the Doctor. No, there was more to it than just that. It wasn't just sounding like him. She could dismiss that as simple familiarity.

It was almost as if she was _thinking_ like him, but that didn't make sense. How could she be thinking like the Doctor? And why? Why did she have this knowledge? Where did it come from? Why did she suddenly understand Venusian Aikido? Or how to cause an alien creature to stampede? Three-tonal whistle? Why had she even thought she could make a sound like that?

There had to be an explanation for it. Something that made sense. She knew that the Doctor was slightly psychic. No. That didn't make sense. He'd lost his memories. But, still, what if...

"Doctor?" instinct led her to ask tentatively, directing both the word and the accompanying thought inward. No response. Not even a tingle of familiarity.

"No, wait," she said, standing and pacing the small cell. "Not the Doctor, then. But alien thoughts, knowledge. Knowing more than I should. About...time?" She could understand it, she realised. With just a piece of chalk, a clean wall, and about half a dozen human lifetimes, she could start writing down the temporal theory... "Oh. _Oh_. Of course! Oh, how could I've been so stupid? Not the Doctor at all. Just his…memories. Ha! He isn't gone after all!"

They couldn't've stolen his memories because… Oh. Right. Her elation died as she finished her last thought. "He's in me. Well, sort of."

Wasn't that just fantastic?

If his memories were in her, how'd they get there? She didn't remember telling him that she'd be happy to safeguard his thoughts for him - though she would've done, and gladly. There was just that one moment, when he'd brushed his hand against her temple before he was taken away. She remembered crying out in denial, crying for him, before she was dragged away and he was put through the Ka Ra Nor.

"Well, where's there's life there's hope. That's what the Doctor always says," she said, more in a half-hearted attempt to comfort herself. Though the Doctor, her Doctor, never really said that. She was remembering something else.

Which also explained the dreams. She remembered asking him once whether he slept. After his typical response of 'Sleep is for human apes, not Time Lords,' he'd told her the truth. At least, as much of it as he could bear to share with her.

_"I do sleep," he confided reluctantly, staring at a point somewhere beyond her shoulder. "I just tend to put it off as long as possible. There are too many things to do, you know, to waste time resting."_

_"Doctor," she said, shaking her head. "You know that if you need to sleep, you should sleep."_

_He looked at her and in his gaze she could see a mere fragment of what he tried to hide from her. There was a reason he didn't sleep or, rather, tried not to, and she knew it. _

_In sleep, he dreamed._

She'd shared those dreams. She could only remember bits and pieces, but she knew that they were traumatic. She'd woken screaming often enough to confirm it.

"Oh, Doctor." His name was a sigh and her heart went out to him.

Right. Enough thinking. So she knew what was wrong with her. Which was a good thing. However, she was still in a jail cell, wearing clothing that did little to shield her from the chill in the room, and she had yet to come up with a plan of escape. Which definitely _wasn't_ good.

What sort of assets did she have? She had the Doctor's memories and bits of strategically placed silk held in place by jewels and gold. That was it. Nothing more. Not even a chunk of handy rock to use to bash a guard over the head with. She was lucky that she'd been allowed to retain the clasps that held on her outfit. She certainly didn't fancy being gawked at by over-familiar guards.

The sound of a key being slid into the lock startled her out of her contemplations. She knew that the door opened inward after a brief examination of the hinges. She scrambled to the side of the door, bracing herself against the wall. If she could slip out behind whoever was coming in or use some of her acquired knowledge of Venusian Aikido to knock out the guard...

The door creaked open, but she couldn't see anyone's back. It was almost as if the door had swung open on its own. She was tempted to move from her position, but she held herself still. It had to be a trap.

After several seconds, she heard the scrape of a shoe against the hard surface of the floor. "Come out from behind the door, child," the newcomer intoned.

She bit back a curse. Admittedly, it was an obvious choice, but she had to try. However, if she didn't move...

"If you don't come out, your friend Erana will be punished," the man said.

That decided her. Holding her head high, her back straight, and her arms relaxed at her side, she stepped into the centre of the room. Turning, she faced the richly-clad man, recognising him as one of the King's advisors. "What do you want? I'm busy," she said in as bored a tone as she could muster.

"Insolence is not tolerated, child. You're in enough trouble as it is," the advisor scolded her, though his tone did not exactly match his words. It was almost as if he were sympathetic toward her.

Good. She could use that.

"Still doesn't answer the question," she replied, folding her arms.

"No," he agreed. "It doesn't. You should be grateful to your Lord and Master, child. If He had not chosen you, you would be destined for the Ka Ra Nor." The advisor smiled in what he undoubtedly thought was a comforting way. In reality, it was anything but.

She had to tread very, very carefully. Knowing what she did now, she couldn't afford to go through the Ka Ra Nor. She needed her memories, the Doctor's memories, intact. Which meant she'd have to go with the advisor. She'd always wondered when it'd be her turn to go to the King's chambers, to experience his 'tender' mercies first hand.

Now she knew.

Well, she amended the thought, the King could try but she had more than one trick up her sleeve. Thanks to a certain knowledge of Venusian Aikido, she'd be fine. (Maybe.) And, even better, she could escape. (Hopefully.)

"He wants me?" she finally asked, settling for a random question rather than the one she truly wanted the answer to. Where was the Doctor? What have your people done with him? Where could she find him?

"You intrigue His Majesty. It's been a long time since that has happened. You should feel honoured. Now, come, child. I will escort you back to the harem. You shall bathe and prepare yourself. I will fetch you at sundown," the advisor said, gesturing for her to precede him into the hall.

She tried to maintain an unconcerned expression, keeping her true feelings behind a mask. There were so many ways that this tentative plan of hers could go dreadfully wrong. If she couldn't overpower the King, if she couldn't use the Doctor's memories to even just disable him, or if she couldn't escape. She held no illusions of what would be her fate.

They didn't believe in executions on Yervanos. From what little she'd been able to learn from Erana and the other girls in the harem, Yervanos once had a death penalty until the Ka Ra Nor arrived. It'd been a gift - though, she now knew, it was a curse - from another world. The King believed it to be a present from the gods.

The Doctor had recognised it as a device used by the Sontarans. His protests had fallen upon unhearing ears. The King had personally sentenced the Doctor to the Ka Ra Nor. Had escorted him to the device. Had pressed the button. And now she had been left with the aftermath.

No Doctor except for his memories. No hope for rescue but for that which she could arrange for herself. And the possibility of losing his precious memories after all, if her plans go wrong.

She still could escape. Another Aikido move and she'd be free. It'd be simple, easy, but she held herself still. There was a time and a place for everything. And, now, she had a goal. If she got into the King's chambers, she might be able to find something useful. She reasoned that they must've kept the sonic screwdriver and whatever else the Doctor had had on his person. And, given that it was all alien, she could easily see the King keeping those objects close.

He seemed to like showpieces.

With those thoughts in mind, she gave the advisor a half-bow and walked into the hallway. She let him direct her with the gentle nudge of his hand on her shoulder, increasing and decreasing her speed at his command. She counted at least a dozen ways that she could've escaped. It would've been easy. Simple. However, she had a plan. A good plan. Or so she hoped. Which meant her escape would have to wait.

The double doors to the harem loomed before her and she let the advisor open them for her, ushering her inside. "You have until sundown," he reminded her and then left, shutting the doors behind him.

She didn't have a lot of time. She'd tidy herself up as much as she could, but the...

Her thoughts stumbled to a halt as she was engulfed in a frantic hug. Erana, she finally identified as the other woman said, "Rose! Oh, thank Yilsa, you're alive!"

"'Course I'm alive," she replied, almost cockily, returning the hug. "'M fine. Had a close encounter with this planet's version of a rat, but otherwise, I'm fine. Jus' peachy, really."

Erana pulled away and looked at her with a shrewd expression. "Somehow I doubt that. But I saw you arrive with the advisor. Does that…?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Guess that means I'm lucky contestant number one."

Erana shook her head and pulled her deeper into the harem rooms, toward the bath. "You must tell me what happened. The guards forced us to return here after your escape. Did they hurt you?"

Her friend's concern was welcome, but unnecessary. She shook her head. "No, they didn't hurt me. Well, if I ignore the whole knockin' me unconscious thing. They jus' threw me into a cell for a bit. Then I got chosen, so here I am." She smiled, but she knew the expression didn't reach her eyes.

She could do this. She could make herself 'presentable' for the King, whatever that was worth. And then she could escape. But, for now, she stared at the clothes that were always laid out for those who were chosen with dismay. She'd never taken the time to truly look at them, to realise just what they meant.

It was an outfit that made her current strategically arranged bits of cloth and jewellery seem positively puritan in comparison. She'd have to make do, though traipsing about the city in that particular outfit after her escape didn't strike her fancy. Then again, being stuck in a harem on an alien planet without hope of a timely Doctor-prompted rescue didn't either.

Erana encouraged her into the bath, handing her washing cloths and scented oils. It was an act that everyone in the harem was familiar with. This was just her first time on the wrong side of the bath.

She went through the motions by rote, scrubbing, rinsing, washing. Letting Erana deal with her hair, twisting it into a fashionable, yet practical bun. Dealing with her own preparations mentally, preparing herself for what was to come. In the shadows of her mind, she could sense him. His essence, his memories.

_She went through the motions because she had to. Lived life, watched the days pass without comment. In the shelter of Alistair's garden, she could forget for a time all that she'd lost._

_"This isn't living, Doctor," Alistair said, settling beside her on the bench._

_"What is it, then?" she asked, wishing she had the courage to pour out her woes to the Brigadier, but it hurt too much._

_"Surviving," he replied without hesitation. "I know the signs, man. This isn't you. Get up, get back to the TARDIS, go back to who you are."_

_"What if who I was is dead?" she asked. Some days, most days, she desired that to be true._

_"Bollocks," Alistair snapped, gripping one of her shoulders and spinning her toward him. His eyes were strangely fierce. "You're still here, Doctor. You survived. War's hell, I know. And god knows I don't know what you went through out there, but I know you. And this? This isn't you."_

_"Who am I, Alistair?" she asked. "Ka Faraq Gatri? The Oncoming Storm? Destroyer of Worlds? Bringer of Darkness? No. I know exactly who I am. I'm the Killer of my People."_

_"You are my friend. The saviour of this planet a thousand times over. The man who loves this universe enough to give the ultimate sacrifice. That's who you are. Not this man who ghosts through my gardens day after day. Go back to it, Doctor. Go back to your life. Travelling through time and space. Driving UNIT mad. Pestering governments, annoying the locals, saving the day. That's the only way you can live."_

_"What if I can't go back to that?" That was the crux of her fear. After the War, how could she live?_

_"You'll never know," Alistair said, once more showing his deep understanding of her psyche, "until you try."_

"Rose?" Erana asked and she blinked, realising that she'd fallen into a half-doze.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"It's time."

So it was. She gave the other woman a brief hug, whispering to her that she'd return. Erana didn't know her plans, couldn't know them. But she swore to herself that she'd keep that promise. This was one regime that couldn't last.

Steeling herself, she stood, smoothing down the barely-there dress. The advisor was waiting for her.

Smiling brightly, offering the others in the harem a fearless image though she was quaking inside, she headed for the doors.

"Showtime," she murmured.

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4: Breaking the Barriers

**Chapter 4: Breaking the Barriers**

Two hours. He could feel each second as it passed, knowing that bit by bit he was getting closer to a pointless trial and an even more pointless persecution. He knew how the system worked in the village. It was simple, easy, obvious. He'd seen it before. If there was someone who might just be remembering their past, they were put on immediate trial. Inevitably, they were convicted and sentenced to serving out their lives on the outskirts of the village doing menial labour. That, at least, was true of the lucky ones.

The unlucky ones – the ones who had physical evidence of their recollections – were sentenced to death. It generally depended on how uptight the councillors were feeling as to which of the sentences would be given to the accused. In his case, he knew what it'd be. Reane's hatred for him was obvious. Not to mention having his carvings.

He had a suspicion that death for him might not necessarily be permanent. He just couldn't explain that feeling. Perhaps it had something to do with his dreams. No matter. Gruesome thought would do little to free him from his current troubles. Admittedly, death would probably be preferable to eating more of the thin gruel that he'd been provided as breakfast. It seemed far better suited for a science experiment than a meal.

"Anyone ever tell you that you really should do some upgrades 'round here? A few less bars, maybe a bed with an actual mattress on it rather than straw, or even jus' having a better cook. Can't say you should give my compliments to your chef, y'know. Beans are too watery an' the water tastes funny. Should've let me-" he complained cheerfully as he against the rough wall of the jail cell.

"Shut it," Reane snapped from his position on the other side of the bars. He'd been honoured with the man's presence as a guard since he'd been put in the cell. However, whenever he'd tried to engage the other man in conversation, he got a variant of 'shut it'. Last time it was a threat to cut out his tongue. Reane was starting to fall down on the job, he decided.

"'S not very original, that. 'Shut it'," he parroted. "Whatever happened to saying something clever? Oh, wait, sorry. For a second there I forgot who I was talking to."

The other man's jaw twitched to an imaginary beat and he chalked his score up one in his mental tally of Doctor versus Reane. "Cat got your tongue?" he asked, before realising that he had no idea where that expression came from. There was no such thing as a 'cat' on Yervanos. But, somehow, he knew it was an animal.

Yet another mystery in a plethora of the same.

The deep tones of the village bell filled the jail, indicating that the council was summoned to session. To discuss his fate, most likely. "Shouldn't you be with the council, Reane? Gloating over your so-called triumph? No, wait, you're not on the council, are you? Bit annoying that, no?"

"Enough! You babble pointlessly." Reane purposefully turned away from him and he grinned smugly.

"Oh, wouldn't say that. Keeps me entertained." He shrugged and focused on what might happen once the council was out of session. He'd probably get convicted. They might lead him to the stocks first. Then let the others in the village get a good look at him before he was killed at sunset. Or maybe sunrise. Depended on the symbolism of the moment.

Reane turned back to him, glaring at him for a long moment. "You're not getting out of this one, Doctor. It's impossible."

For some reason, that turn of phrase was rather familiar. He shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But that's the fun part about impossible tasks, y'know. Never know until you try."

The other man leaned forward, bracing his elbows against his knees. "Then do it."

"Where's the fun in that? Impossible's not impossible, just unlikely. 'Sides, impossible works best when it's unexpected."

Reane shook his head. "I expected as much. You'll have a long wait ahead of you."

"Got all the time in the world," he replied and closed his eyes.

* * *

_Time laughed at him, her golden tresses and glowing eyes dancing in the flickering currents of the universe._

_"My Champion, why have you forsaken me?" she asked, her previous mirth all but forgotten._

_He was confused. "What do you mean?"_

_"You've forgotten everything and, in so, have forsaken me. You must return. The other tries, but cannot. You're needed. You are Time's Champion."_

_His brow furrowed. "I don't understand."_

_Her wise eyes flared for a moment before she faded away. "You will."_

_And the universe exploded in sound._

His eyes snapped open, causing the man who'd been bent over him to jump away in shock. "'S not nice to disturb someone while they're sleepin'," he scolded, blinking to chase away the fragments of the strange dream.

"You're summoned, Doctor," the man – one of the council, he finally realised – said.

"Oh, I feel the love already," he replied, pushing himself to his feet. "Surely they don't want me to give a speech in my defence – assuming, of course, that I'd want to defend myself in your pansy court. Probably a summons to hear my sentence…am I right?"

The man didn't say anything, merely kept his gaze forward as he led the way out. Reane fell into step behind them, but he decided that he wouldn't give him the pleasure of any acknowledgement.

"Oh, don't fall over yourself in your rush to answer my question. So, let me answer for you. Guilty on all counts. Death at sundown? Assumin' that the signs are in the right place, enough people are around to witness, etcetera, etcetera?" he suggested, mentally congratulating himself when he caught the council member's barely perceptible flinch.

So that was that, then.

With a grim expression on his face, he followed the man toward his destiny. A voice deep inside him protested uselessly against the pomp and circumstance.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

* * *

The scenario that he'd found himself in seemed strangely familiar. The platform on which he stood was several feet beneath that which held the table of councillors. Probably was intended to make one feel small and insignificant in the face of justice – though, in this village, justice didn't exist. There was only this facsimile, and even that was lacking. 

"Doctor, village blacksmith," Geran, the council's leader, intoned. "You are charged with the crime of memory. Advisor Reane has provided us with tangible evidence of your guilt. You are here to hear your sentence."

"My sentence? Not even giving me a chance to defend myself? Not, of course, that I'd even care to defend myself before this mockery of a court. Justice isn't exactly blind when it comes to this village, now, is it?" He folded his arms and wished that he had something to lean against. If anything, the gesture would've had more impact. It was contempt. His contempt for this court. His contempt for this life.

This wasn't who he was. Not that he knew who he was, but he'd been trying. And now the council had chosen to punish him for it. Guilty.

He could live with guilt. Something told him that he and guilt were no strangers; if anything, old friends. He noticed that Firin was avoiding his gaze and he fought the urge to sigh. It was inevitable. The few cave before the many. The weak before the strong.

It was disappointing.

Geran continued, ignoring his words. "You have been sentenced to death, Doctor. You will hang at dawn. Until then, you will be placed in the stocks as a warning to others."

"So much trouble jus' for me. Should I feel touched?"

Nothing. Not even a hint of a grin or appreciation for his gallows humour. If Firin's reaction was disappointing, this was almost crushing.

"What? No words? Nothing to say beyond 'have a nice death'? I'm hurt."

Reane stepped in front of him at a nod from Geran. "Right this way, Doctor." The other man gestured in the general direction of the village green. "Your time in the stocks should give you plenty of time to contemplate your crimes."

"Shame the real crime won't be addressed," he replied, unconcerned. "Justice'd be disappointed in you lot."

"Move," Reane growled. Two guards flanked him as added emphasis.

Shaking his head sadly, he let them lead him to the stocks. He was outnumbered, outflanked, and he couldn't determine a means of escape until he was left well enough alone. Knowing Reane, the man would stay to gloat.

The bolts creaked in protest as the guards rammed them closed, securing him within the stocks. It was difficult, but not impossible, to crane his head to meet Reane's cocky expression with one of his own. He might be bound, might be captured, but he certainly wasn't defeated.

"I'm saddened, Doctor. Isn't this your chance for the impossible escape? Your one chance to free yourself before you die in the morning?" Reane taunted.

"'S not my fault if you didn't listen earlier," he replied with as much of a shrug as he could muster given his current predicament. He grinned, making certain that he met the other man's gaze. "'Sides, this gives me a chance to experience the stocks first hand. Can't say much for the view, though."

Reane's jaw visibly tightened in reaction. "It doesn't matter. You will hang, and I won't have to deal with you any longer."

"Never did have to deal with me in the first place. Always was your choice," he said cheerfully.

Reane turned away from him in disgust. Apparently that was his answer. He had to admit that it was rather disheartening. He'd been looking forward to some sort of battle of wills. Instead, he'd already won without barely getting past the first exchange.

"I look forward to the morning, Doctor. Have a pleasant evening," Reane said, without turning to look at him. Another victory.

"Will do. 'Specially without you mucking it up," he replied cheekily.

Reane's shoulders stiffened as he walked away, leading the two guards deeper into the village. Good. Now he'd finally be able to get some sort of work done without their observation. Like determining a way out of this particular mess.

Good thing about being the village blacksmith - not only did he get the chance of working with lovely people such as Reane, he was also tasked with maintaining the various metallic equipment around the town. Which, conveniently enough, included the stocks. Or, specifically, the metal shackles that held the wooden bars shut.

Yervanos' environment wasn't conducive to metals. Rusting happened within the first few hours after a rainstorm. It was only recently – since, he assumed, his arrival on the scene – that they'd developed the means of creating metals that were rust resistant. Since the stocks weren't used often, they were the last on his list to be upgraded to his resistant metal.

Which meant that they were weak. The proper application of enough force should cause them to fracture. Might not be the easiest means of escape, but it was all that he had available to him. He just hoped that he could break the locks without attracting undue attention.

There was only so much he could do while in this particular position, after all.

Getting any measure of leverage while bound neck and wrist was next to impossible. Best way to break a lock was upward or downward force. He was stuck with whatever momentum he could muster, which was next to nothing. However, he wasn't about to give up without trying.

Bracing his feet as closely beneath him as he could, he strained upwards, wincing as the wood bit into the skin of his neck. Beyond that injury, and the bruises he knew he'd be feeling by morning, there was no indication that he'd had any sort of impact upon the lock.

He might not know who he was, but he did know what sort of man he was. He didn't give up. Couldn't give up. Just meant that he was in for a long night of trying.

* * *

He rested wearily against the lower half of the stocks, letting it bear the brunt of his weight. His neck muscles were sore, and he could feel the slowly hardening wetness of drying blood against his skin. The locks were stubborn, he had to give them that. Even with his superior physiology – at least, he assumed it to be superior since he'd yet to see anyone else like him – he was exhausted. 

The shadows had long ago lengthened into darkness, leaving him staring at the barely visible cobblestones of the street beneath him. He should rest, give himself the strength to try again, but he was far too aware of the slippage of time. Seconds stretched to minutes stretched to hours.

He couldn't afford to rest. There wasn't enough time. Never enough time.

_You have forsaken me..._

The words meant something important, but he pushed the thought aside. He had graver concerns than his lost memories. Staying alive was but one of them.

He stiffened as he heard something that didn't fit in the normal night-sounds of the village. It was late, far too late for anyone to be up at this hour, unless they were him. Admittedly the stocks weren't conducive to sleep, but he didn't need to rest as often as the others. There were many times that he'd watched the sunrise after a long night of working in the smithy.

Someone was coming. Slowly, stealthily, but they were coming. Right behind him, where he couldn't see. The hairs on the nape of his neck lifted as his awareness grew of the stranger. Was it Reane? Come back to gloat once more, or to kill him himself? He certainly wouldn't put it past the man. Or someone else? See the Doctor, trussed up like a...something that got trussed up.

That was when he recognised the sound. It was Firin's characteristic half-step, half-shuffle. "Doctor?" Firin whispered, his voice barely in the audible range.

"Yeah?" he asked somewhat harshly, not forgetting what had happened during the council meeting.

"Are you all right? No, stupid question. I'm so sorry," Firin said softly as he walked around the stocks so he could finally see a blurry outline of the other man's shoes. "There just wasn't anything I could do. Not then."

There was always something that could be done. Even if it was wrong. Even if it meant going against the popular opinion. There was always something that could be done. What he didn't understand was what Firin wanted. "Why're you here, Firin? Want my forgiveness? Sorry, can't do that. Standin' up for what you believe in, that takes courage. Steppin' back and lettin' it happen? That's cowardice. One guess as to what you were today?"

Firin swallowed. "I know, my friend. I know. I wanted to...but Reane threatened-" The other man cut himself off with a weary sigh. "That's no excuse, I know. I am a coward. But that's why I'm here. I can't... There's something you should know."

"What's that?"

"The village. I've been doing a bit of looking into the history of this place. There're some papers that only the council's head has access to. I managed to convince him to step out for a bit while I had a look about. You were right. There's a reason for everything that you've noticed. For the extra food. For the punishment for those who might remember." Firin paused, almost as if he were searching for the strength to continue.

"This is a prison, Doctor. You were absolutely right. And us? We're criminals. Murderers. Rapists. Whatever. Our memories were taken from us because they wanted to start us off with a clean slate. To remove the bad from the good." Firin's feet shuffled in his version of a pace – it was far too difficult for him otherwise. "Knowing this...I don't think I want my memories back."

He grimaced and did his best to shake his head in denial. "Who are you, Firin? Really? Do you feel like a murderer? A rapist? A criminal?"

"Course not!" Firin said. "But I wouldn't, would I? I don't remember anything."

"You would," he denied. "What's the measure of a man, Firin? What makes him who he is? Memories? Those can be removed. Those can be fabricated. It's actions that matter. An' nothing I've ever seen has indicated to me that you're anything other than a good man."

He sighed, staring at the darkened pavement. "If anything, it's me that should be worried."

"What?" Firin exclaimed. "Why? If you can say that about me, well, it goes double for you!"

He laughed bitterly. "Didn't you know? I dreamed that I died. Over and over again, eight times over, and you know what? I still lived. What happened to that old wives' tale that if you die in your sleep you actually die? I've seen things, things you wouldn't believe. I've heard screams. My hands have been bathed in blood. Doesn't surprise me that I'm in prison. What surprises me is that I never even realised. Not until now."

"Doctor, that's not who you are."

"Isn't it? How can you know? Really know?" He craned his neck to look at his friend, ignoring the tortured muscles' protests.

"You know why those who start to remember are punished?" Firin asked.

The tangent startled him enough to blink. "Sure. I can guess. It's 'cause they're scared. Someone might revert to their old ways if they remember. Mass hysteria. Typical end of the world scenario." Not that he had any idea what a typical scenario was, but the phrase seemed to fit.

Firin shook his head. "No. I thought about it. What if it's not that they're scared someone might revert? What if it's just that they're worried their carefully crafted world – this village – might fall apart? Living in a prison without knowing it is completely different than actually realising where you are."

No. There was something familiar about this. He'd seen something like this before? Maybe? Nothing that he'd seen in the village had made him suspect anything was wrong. If he hadn't been naturally inquisitive, he never would've questioned the status quo. Never would've noticed that something was terribly wrong.

"I think there's something else, something that we're both missing. I don't think this is a prison for murderers or rapists, Firin."

"Then what is it?" the other man asked, confused.

"It's a prison for those who disagree, those who rebel against society," he explained. "Sure, there might be murderers and rapists about, but I don't think that's why we're here. Seems a bit extreme, doesn't it? Take away our memories…this entire village, this life. They're trying to modify us. Modify our behaviour. Make us fit. Has anyone left the village, Firin?"

"Half a dozen that I remember. Good, solid blokes. Worked menial labour, mostly. One was an excellent cook."

"Where'd they go?" he asked, his mind churning with ideas. "What if they were judged fit to rejoin society? This village isn't the be-all, end-all of Yervanos. There's got to be another civilisation out there. At least a city, someone who's been sending us here. An' then, once we've been brainwashed enough, we get let back in. Nice and normal blokes, fit to move about in public."

"That's monstrous," Firin said.

"Yeah," he agreed. "But that's what this is. This life. An' that's why they don't want someone like me around. Why I've been sentenced to death. Because I question. I ask. I know something's wrong around here. I argue. I disagree. I don't match their mould of a perfect bloke for their society, and they don't like it."

Firin shook himself for a moment, reaching into the folds of his cloak. "That's why I'm here, Doctor. I might be a coward, but you're anything but." In his friend's hand, he could see the dim outline of a key.

The other man moved out of sight for a moment, but he heard the tortured scrape of the catches' release. A moment later, he was free. "Firin?" he questioned, rubbing circulation back into his wrists and neck muscles.

"Something needs to be done about this place, Doctor. And you're the only one who can do it. After all these years, you've woken me up. I don't know whether to thank you or curse you."

"Something tells me that I have that effect on people," he replied.

"Get out of here, my friend, and good luck," Firin said, extending his hand as he balanced on his crutches.

He grasped his friend's hand with as much strength and warmth as he could muster. "Thank you."

"I might be a coward," Firin commented as he started to shuffle away. "But I can have courage from the sidelines."

"Yeah," he agreed softly, watching the other man leave the courtyard. "You certainly can."

It was enough to restore his faith. But, now, he had to get out of the open and quickly. There wasn't much he could do here, but if he could find the city. Maybe, just maybe, he could figure out just what the purpose of the prison was. And, possibly, regain his memories. Even if they were bad and revealed terrible things – as he suspected they must – he still wanted them.

He knew what his measure was. He just needed to find it.

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5: Escape

_Sorry for the delay on posting this one. Fanfiction was down earlier. Also, to let my readers know, I will not be posting as usual on Sunday since that's Torchwood's premiere._

* * *

**Chapter 5: Escape**

Rose had never taken the time to register just how ornate the furnishings and tapestries were in the palace. Every single object - from the lighting fixtures to the marble murals on the floor - was a testimony to wealth and privilege. It disgusted her almost as much as the barely-there dress that she'd been forced to wear as the King's latest Chosen.

Chosen, she'd wanted to scoff. Another label for a slave. She'd wondered when it'd be her turn to return to the harem bloodied from the King's blows. He apparently liked it a little rough. A smile that was almost predatory crossed her face as she followed behind the advisor, letting her gaze fall upon the even more elaborate decorations that characterised the King's private wing.

He might try his best to hurt her, to take advantage of her, but she had a secret weapon up her sleeve. Though the Doctor might not be there in person, he was with her in his memories. His instincts. His knowledge. She knew just what jumble of nerves to hit to put a humanoid male out cold for several hours. She knew how to move to avoid a blow. She knew how to fight.

All because of the Doctor.

She missed him. Missed his smile, the way he held his head, the way he looked at her with that gentle mixture of humour and affection. She missed the feel of his hand within hers.

Right. Enough melancholic thinking. She had to face the King in a few minutes. Best to be prepared.

"You will be silent unless the King speaks to you, child. You will address him as 'my lord' or else 'master'. He does not suffer fools gladly, and prefers his women docile. Remember this and you will be fine," the advisor said as he dropped back to walk just slightly in front of her.

"Thought I intrigued him," she replied instinctively, though she knew she should've kept her mouth shut. This wasn't the time.

The advisor cracked a smile. "Oh, you do, child. But he does not give anyone leeway. Especially not a woman. Take heed of my words."

She nodded slightly. She'd take heed of his words, and then promptly ignore them. There was only so much that she could be expected to withstand before she'd be spurred into action. She'd figure out the best way of escape from the King's apartments and then proceed from there.

They came to a halt just before a gold-inlaid door that towered above them. Tiny carvings of fanciful creatures and ferocious monsters facing heroic knights stretched across its expanse. She found the one of a lion-like creature being faced down by a man holding a tiny sling most appropriate.

The advisor pressed one of the figures - a sun-like depression - and a small section of the door moved inward and disappeared into the interior woodwork of the door. A small metal panel with a flat surface surrounded by blinking lights was revealed. Though simple, the technology struck her as at complete odds with the rest of the palace.

Without saying a word, he pressed his hand against the metal plate. She could hear a soft whirring noise from somewhere inside and, with a soft click, the door swung open. "Go in," the advisor said, gesturing toward the opening. "He's waiting for you."

Steeling herself, she straightened her posture and walked toward the opening, giving the advisor a regal nod. This would be the last time - if she had anything to say about it - that she'd see him. As she stepped across the threshold, she noticed that the door seemed to have been reinforced with some sort of steel-like plating.

As soon as she moved away from the doorway, a shimmer arose around it. She bit back a curse. It was a force field. "Paranoid, much?" she muttered to herself as she scanned the room.

If anything, the King's apartments were even richer than the palace proper. Everywhere she looked, she saw gold or else some other sort of precious metal. Elaborate engravings covered almost every vertical or horizontal surface, making her feel almost claustrophobic.

That was when she realised that she wasn't alone. He'd moved so silently that she hadn't noticed his presence until he was almost within touching distance. She took a reflexive step backwards but stiffened her posture at the King's knowing smile. He took pleasure in seeing her taken aback. That was one of his better known characteristics amongst the women of the harem.

The smallest thing, be it a cringe or a step, made him feel powerful. That, she reasoned, was why he liked to hit women. The people on Yervanos didn't fight back, wouldn't fight back. They'd cower or cry or grovel, but they wouldn't respond. They'd let him do whatever he pleased, simply because of the crown on his head.

"Rose," he said as he walked around her, eying her as if she were some sort of prize. Which, she supposed, in his eyes, she was.

"My lord," she replied, keeping her tone even. She prayed that her acting skills were up to par. Otherwise he'd know that she loathed him and the very idea of his touching her made her skin crawl.

"My first impression was right. You are very beautiful," the King commented, stepping close enough to trail a finger through her hair.

She opened her mouth to reply, but he shook his head. "I did not give you permission to speak. You will do. Come with me."

Her tongue would hurt in the morning from the pressure of her teeth, but she couldn't afford to let the King know that she was anything other than obedient. She followed him docilely deeper into the apartments, looking about to try and get an understanding of the layout of the rooms. From what she'd seen, they were alone. No guards, just a force field that kept unwanted visitors outside. Only a select few had access to the King's rooms, which meant that she had an even better chance of escape.

They reached a room filled with books that towered toward the ceiling. Though she wasn't a reader, she felt the inclination to rush to the shelves and run her fingers across their dusty spines. She could attribute it to the Doctor's memories, she knew. The need for knowledge, the urge to know. Part of it was her, of course. But the majority was him.

The King was watching her. She could feel it as she tore her gaze away from the books. "A little knowledge can be a very dangerous thing, Rose," he said as he moved closer to her.

Now, she could see the open doorway behind him and just the hint of a bed. This was it, then, she realised. She had to take control.

She let a slow, seductive smile cross her face as she approached the King, letting a hand reach out to barely touch his arm. "Oh, my lord, danger is what makes it exciting."

There was no warning. One moment she was flirting outrageously with the King, the next her cheek was stinging and she could taste the sharp tang of blood in her mouth. "You try me, wench. I did not give you permission to speak."

She blinked as she felt something almost alien come over her. Her lips parted into a feral smile. "Oh, you haven't seen _trying_ yet, my lord," she drawled.

The King growled as he struck her again, this time hard enough to set her ears ringing. Now she knew something was different about herself. Again she felt odd, detached. Almost as if she was merely an observer in her own body. He pulled her hard against him, his hands pawing ungraciously over her body. He ripped cloth and tore away jewellery in his quest to satisfy his ardour.

His mouth settled hard on hers with bruising force as his fingers drifted towards territory they had no business being near. And, with the same detachment she'd experienced once before, she lifted one of her hands and struck a certain nerve junction in the man's shoulder. The King gasped once and then fell to the floor, unconscious.

Self-consciously, she tried to restore some order to her barely-there outfit before giving up. She'd have to borrow something of the King's, then. "Men never listen," she said softly, toeing him once to make certain he was still safely out cold.

Nothing. Not a twitch. Good. Not letting herself think of what had almost occurred, she scanned the room. She might've saved herself momentarily, but she wasn't under any illusions of just what might happen once the King woke up.

A metallic glint - something that didn't quite fit with the gold and woodwork in the library - caught her eye. She crossed the room and examined what appeared to be a simple metal box. However, something told her that it was anything but simple. Strangely familiar geometric designs were inlaid upon the exterior along with what could only be an emblem of some sort. It looked like an oddly stylized figure eight.

_Rassilon._

The word that came to her mind was accompanied by an intense pang of grief. Frowning, she touched the exterior and it seemed to melt before her eyes, revealing an odd assortment of objects that couldn't've possibly fit within those small confines. "A TARDIS box?" she murmured to herself, confused. But there were two other things on the shelf above it that made her smile in triumph.

The TARDIS key. And, even better, the sonic screwdriver.

First things first. She needed something to wear. Preferably with pockets. Striding through the city wearing only the tattered remains of her dress was not at the top of her priority list. She strode purposefully into the King's bedroom, turning toward the massive wardrobe at the other side of the room. There should be something decent to wear in there - if only a jacket. At least, she hoped so. Moving through the city wearing a literal King's ransom on her back didn't exactly strike her fancy either.

She winced as the wardrobe door creaked loudly, protesting its opening. As she'd expected, the King didn't have much taste in clothes. Gold cloth, silver trim, and elaborate embroidery seemed to be what the well-dressed (or so they thought) King was wearing today. It was only in the back of the wardrobe that she found exactly what she was looking for.

The soft, dark leather felt wonderful against her skin as she pulled it off the hanger. It wasn't his jacket, but it was close enough to cause a pang of loss to shoot through her heart. She missed him. God, she missed him. She closed her eyes and hugged the jacket to herself, letting it take the momentary place of his memory.

With a heartfelt sigh, she pulled the heavy leather jacket on, closing the zip. Feeling better for the added comfort of the clothing, she returned to the library for the sonic screwdriver, the key and the TARDIS box. Something told her that it might be important later.

A quick glance at the King revealed that he still was unconscious. But only for a short while longer. She had, at a quick estimate, roughly ten minutes to escape before he called for guards.

Right. Time for a plan. The interior of the force-field that surrounded the King's apartments wasn't damaging, but she suspected that the exterior would deliver a nasty shock should one get too close to it. Perhaps she could use the sonic screwdriver to short-circuit the force field. Once she did, she'd have to figure out a means of leaving the palace grounds without detection.

There. The window. Most of the palace was surrounded by interconnecting window ledges, resulting in precarious walkways that led from room to room. If she could climb outside, perhaps use some of the bed sheets as a sort of rope, she might be able to get down to the gardens without notice. Though the King's rooms were considered the best guarded in the place, she knew all too well that no one would expect someone to escape from them. It'd be impossible.

Little did they know exactly who they were dealing with.

With a manic smile that was reminiscent of her Doctor's, she went back into the bedroom and stripped the bed. The silken material was far too slippery to risk her weight against should she attempt to tie it together while dry. Quickly locating the bathroom, she wetted the fabric before she tied the sheets together to form a rudimentary rope. It wasn't ideal, but little about her current situation in life was anything of the sort. Dragging the purple sheets behind her, she carefully avoided the King's prone form as she walked to the window.

The tell-tale shimmer of the force field covered the pane of glass and she stopped just before she touched it, the currents causing the hairs on her arms to lift in reaction. Dropping the cloth rope, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the sonic screwdriver. Somehow, she knew exactly what setting would work best on this technology - Sontaran, she guessed, since the Ka Ra Nor was of that same make.

Twisting the device into the proper setting, she activated it as she pointed it at the side of the window. Unless she missed her guess, emitters were set up at equal intervals. Most logical place at a point of entry such as the window was on the framework. Sure enough, as the sonic screwdriver's hum increased in pitch, sparks shot out from the window frame.

The field flickered once, twice, and then died. She was free.

It was only the work of a second to ease open the window and another to judge the distance she'd have to drop to the gardens. Roughly thirty feet, not terrible, but not great. The sheets would only reach about eighteen. Which meant that she'd have to be very, very careful with how she fell the remaining distance. Even if she dangled off the end of the fabric rope, she'd have approximately seven feet left to fall. If she landed badly, she could easily damage herself and her chances for escape.

Frowning, she half-crawled out the window, inspecting the area surrounding her. It'd be best to avoid notice by hiding her rope (and herself) behind a tree or a corner. Something that'd conceal her escape attempt.

Luckily, the King seemed fond with large pine-like trees. Though the royal purple fabric would stand out against the pale cream of the palace's stonework, most of it could be veiled behind one of those trees.

She'd just have a balancing act to perform to manage it as the closest tree was about ten feet away. A quick scan revealed that there were no guards currently patrolling the grounds or the palace walls within her vision. Even better, she could see a gargoyle-ish protrusion conveniently located near the tree.

"Remember, Rose. Bronze," she told herself, slipping the sonic screwdriver securely into one of the pockets. The makeshift rope was coiled into a loop that she balanced on her left shoulder. Her right would be pressed against the wall. Sadly, the ledge was barely a foot across, which didn't leave her much room for error.

With a bracing breath, she crawled out of the window, pressing her body against the cool stone of the palace wall. Wind caught at her clothes and the rope, threatening to overbalance her. Slow and steady was the key.

_Lean into the wall, keep one foot in front of the other, small steps._ She repeated the words as a mantra in her mind.

She paused, heart pounding loudly in her ears, as she spotted movement beneath her. It was a guard. Admittedly, it was just one of them, but one was more than enough. Once glance upwards would cause all of this to be for nothing.

She flattened herself against the side of the palace, willing herself to be invisible. There should be no reason for the guard to look up. Nothing at all. Nothing, except for the small stone that she'd disturbed with her earlier movements. It was balanced precariously on the edge of the ledge, each blow of the wind causing it to rock further. One good gust and it'd fall.

It rocked slowly. Back and forth. She was aware of everything in that second. The spin of the world beneath her feet, the rapid beat of her heart, the harshness of her breath, the movement of the rock. It'd fall. She knew it would. As ever, it was all a matter of time.

Possibilities stretched out before her. The rock would fall, disturb the brush, and the guard would look up. Spotting her, he'd sound an alarm. She'd be caught and sentenced to the Ka Ra Nor for assaulting the King. She'd lose everything. The pebble would fall, land silently, and the guard would walk away, unknowing of the escapee balanced above him.

She caught her breath as the next gust of wind caught at her hair and the base of her dress. As it reached the stone, its force caused the rock to overbalance and tilt toward the ground. She could almost hear its scrape as it fell off the ledge.

Time slowed down or, perhaps, it was only in her mind. She could see the rock as it spun into near invisibility against the dark green brush below. The guard started to move toward the opposite side of the garden. One sound, one moment, and it'd be over.

The rock hit the ground.

The guard moved on.

She didn't relax until he disappeared into trees. However, common sense held her still. Several long minutes later, she dared to continue toward the tree. There was no indication that the guard had noticed anything wrong. She was still safe - for now.

The remaining feet to her target were crossed with relative ease. It took a few moments to securely tie the sheets to the gargoyle and a stiff tug ensured it'd hold. She couldn't afford to waste any more time. The King would wake up at any moment.

Holding onto the rope, one hand above, one below, she leaned off the edge and let herself fall. Using the rope to slow her descent, she rappelled down the side of the building. Letting instinct take over once she reached the end of the sheets, she let go and turned her fall into a roll, letting her side take the brunt of the impact and feeling it echo throughout her body. But it worked. She was down. She was safe.

Now she just had to escape the palace and find the Doctor. Good thing she was a fan of the impossible.

Then she froze. The crack of a branch off to her right indicated that someone else was there. Another guard?

"Thought I heard something, Rik." A man's voice came from that direction, filtered through the leaves.

Rik replied, "You're imagining things, Bellen. Besides, we've got more important things to think about, eh? We're getting another shipment of those fruits today from Ka Ra Nor village. Think Mikal'll have enough time to distil more of his brew for the festivities next week?"

Her ears perked at the mention of the Ka Ra Nor. But to hear that name applied to a village…No. Wait a moment. What was it that she'd heard earlier? Erana and the other girls had mentioned something about the place where those who'd been sentenced to the Ka Ra Nor went. Could it be this village?

Made sense, she reasoned. They'd have no memories, no idea of who or what they were. They'd be ideally suited for manual labour. Farming would be a useful activity for those 'former' criminals.

Which meant that was where she'd find the Doctor.

She returned her attention to the guards' conversation. "…You know how the royals are with those fruits. We'd be lucky to get even half a barrel."

"Then someone'd better join those blokes that're unloading the shipment then, huh? Secrete a few off to the side? They'll never know. Besides, it'll keep us happy." Rik laughed, his voice sounding fainter as they began to move away.

"Down by the docks, yeah?"

"Yeah. Usual spot off to the right. I'll make sure one of the boys takes some time off to be helpful-like…." The voices faded into an unintelligible garble, but she'd learned what she'd needed to know.

There was an opening in the palace wall on the other side of the garden. The King's Gate, if she recalled the label correctly. Just guarded by the same two who'd just wandered away. So she'd have some small measure of time to slip out.

Patting her pockets, she made sure that the sonic screwdriver, the key and the TARDIS box had made it safely through the fall. Thus reassured, she swiftly crossed the gardens, keeping to the shadows. Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly, the entrance was secured by another force field - this one controlled by a hand panel much like the one in the King's apartments. Another burst of sonic waves and it, too, was disabled.

She was free. Really, truly free, and out of the palace.

"Fantastic," she murmured and, with another manic grin, she headed into the city.

* * *

Finding the docks had been relatively easy. Sneaking onto the transport from Ka Ra Nor village had been hard. People had moved constantly about the area as they moved crates, barrels, and other objects onto the wharf. Rose'd managed to dash onboard during a momentary lull in traffic, hiding herself behind what seemed to be a toolbox of some kind. 

That toolbox had saved her life.

Once the transport had been emptied, the doors were sealed and the walls of the cargo hold had begun to contract, squeaking in protest as metal ground against metal. From her position behind the box, she'd been unable to move. To leave would result in her being crushed. To stay she'd only the slimmest of hopes that the toolbox was strong enough to withstand the pressure of the walls. If not, well, she'd always wanted to be thinner, right?

The walls had rumbled to a stop half a foot away from the toolbox and she'd spent the next several hours in those confines, hoping against hope that she'd made the right decision.

There was no guarantee, after all, that the transport would return to the village. She was relying merely on instinct. And, though instinct had served her well before, she had no way of knowing if it would again.

Question was, should she find herself in the right village, how would she find the Doctor? Would he even remember his name? Or would he be known as this world's equivalent of John Doe? But that didn't make sense. They'd have an entire village of John Does, so how'd they be able to tell the difference?

Maybe the Ka Ra Nor left them with an idea of what their name was. Even if it was just their first name. Everything else was gone, but the label remained. It was a small measure of self-identity. Probably was the only thing they had left.

It only increased her desire to see the King dethroned and the Ka Ra Nor destroyed. No-one else should have to go through this. No-one else should have to lose those that they cared about to a despot's whims.

She hugged herself tightly as the transport continued on its journey, letting her thoughts wander down the well-trodden paths of remembrance and regret. She missed him. She wanted him here, with her, holding her hand. Just with that, she'd know it'd be okay. But she knew that he wouldn't know her. Wouldn't have any idea who she was.

That thought hurt almost as much as her missing him. No. She couldn't let herself dwell on it. What would happen would happen. She'd just have to go with the flow.

The sensation of movement was starting to abate. She could hear the pitch of the engines decrease slightly as the transport slowed. They were arriving at their destination.

Problem was, she didn't know if this was a single run delivery vehicle or not. It'd just dropped off the goods at the city, but what if it was returning for a second load? Or would it wait for a while, have another scheduled delivery for next week? Would the doors be unlocked?

No. It didn't matter. She had to be ready for anything. Straining her senses, she knew the instant that the transport stopped. There. She heard someone get out of the cab of the transport. Someone was talking, but she couldn't make out the words. And then nothing. Not a sound.

Looked like the doors wouldn't be unlocked after all. At least she came prepared. The sonic screwdriver was a comforting weight in her hand as she tried to guess the best setting to use to escape.

_Oh, dual-phased locking mechanism. Too bad Ace isn't here. Could do with a canister of Nitro Nine right about now. Right. Sonic screwdriver setting..._

She blinked, chasing away the fragmented memory. Strange. But she realised that she'd already set the sonic screwdriver. Shrugging, she activated it and was rewarded with the click of the lock and the door swinging open.

It was dark outside, but she'd suspected it would be given the amount of time it'd taken to get wherever 'here' was. She could tell that it was pastoral. It looked like crops were planted just beyond the clearing. And, to the left, she could see rudimentary buildings. Rather roughshod in comparison to the city, actually.

Basic materials. Thatched roofs. Some metalwork, but nothing fancy. It was only dimly lit by torchlight rather than the electrical lighting that she'd noticed in the city. Like she'd stepped into the past rather than the present, actually. Roughly ten or twenty years ago.

Strange.

Her brow furrowed as she continued to look around. No-one was about. The driver of the transport - which was, from what she could see, the most advanced piece of technology in the town - was gone. Only one thing for it. She had to explore. Get the lay of the land and figure out what to do from that information.

Even if the Doctor didn't have his memories, some things would remain the same. If there was trouble, he'd be in the middle of it. And if there was a centre of attention, he'd definitely be firmly in the middle.

Wait. There. By one of the outlying buildings. Was that movement? She narrowed her eyes as she instinctively faded back into the shadow of the transport. Wouldn't do to be caught now. Not when she was so close.

She caught it again. Someone was standing next to the wall of the building, glancing around furtively. He - yes, _he_ definitely had a masculine build - crept out of his shelter and walked toward the transport.

Her heart skipped a beat.

It was him.

Oh, god, it was him! She walked out of the shadows and into the light automatically. She couldn't hide from him. She wanted to run to him. Wanted to fling her arms around his neck and never let him go, but she restrained herself. Her jaw was still slack from shock.

He was here. He'd frozen the instant that she'd become visible, but he relaxed when he seemed to decide she wasn't a threat. He didn't recognise her, she realised, but it was him. He was really here, in front of her, after all this time. She stifled a sob, stretching out a hand imploringly toward him. "Doctor?" she whispered, not daring to believe it to be true. God, it was him. "It's me..."

He blinked for a moment before his strangely open expression shuttered. Danger lurked behind his blue eyes and she felt a shiver run through her. "Who the hell are you?"

_To be continued..._


	6. Chapter 6: Rescue

**Chapter 6: Rescue**

It was her eyes. Something about them seemed old, knowledgeable, familiar. An aspect, perhaps, of what he saw – or didn't see – whenever he looked into a mirror. She stared at him with a far-too-knowing gaze. Licking her lips, she stepped forward and reached for his hand, grabbing it before he had a chance to pull away.

Everything told him she wasn't a threat. Couldn't be a threat for some reason. It was instinctual, this reaction. He'd prided himself on not trusting easily. Too many chances of getting hurt, he'd discovered. However, with this stranger, he did. He let her hold his hand and marvelled at the feel of her too-warm skin against his own. It was right, he decided. But how? Why? Who was she?

"It's like when you were a kid," she began, gazing intently at him, almost as if she were willing him to believe her words. "The first time they tell you the world's turning and you just can't quite believe it because everything looks like it's standing still. I can feel it now, you know. The turn of this planet as it spins through space in orbit around the sun. We're falling through space, you and me. Clinging to the skin of this tiny little world, and if we let go..."

She released his hand and he felt bereft. "My name's Rose Tyler, Doctor. An' that's who I am."

"No," he corrected automatically. Knowing, somehow, someway, that his words were nothing more than the truth despite his lack of memories. "That's not right. Not exactly. How can you-" He cut himself off, shaking his head. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He knew it. She wasn't that person. She shouldn't know the spin of the planet like he did. She was the same as the others in the village with their too-warm bodies and single heart.

Yet, somehow, she wasn't like everyone else.

She smiled faintly. "The how's a longer story than we have the time to tell it in. Least not yet. I've been looking for you. Well, as much as I've been able. Been a bit busy these past few weeks." Rose glanced down at herself and he followed her gaze.

The clothing she was wearing – not the leather jacket but the material underneath it - was impractical. Gauzy and barely there. Almost, and the word did not fit the woman who stood before him, harem-like. Flattering, yes. And a bit distracting. He focused his attention on her face. There were answers there. Answers to everything that he'd been searching for.

"So, Rose Tyler-" She flinched as he said her name and he suspected it was because she'd doubted that she'd hear his voice again. Who was she? And, for that matter, who was he? "-why are you here?"

"Might not look like much, but I'm here to rescue you." Rose replied, catching the tip of her tongue between her teeth in a wry grin. She apparently thought it funny, if not ironic. Her rescuing him. "But," she continued, "seems you didn't need rescuin'. You found me instead."

He was about to respond when he realised that the sky was starting to brighten. Dawn was, if he didn't miss his guess, barely an hour away. With the sun's first rays, he was due to be executed. There wasn't enough time to discuss what had happened to him, though he felt the urge to explain everything to her. The guards might decide to stop by the stocks a bit early, catch in a bit of gloating before the big event. If anyone would, he'd definitely expect Reane to pop by for a last minute visit.

"We've got to go," he told her seriously. "Was due to be executed first thing in the morning."

Rose sighed, shaking her head. "Some things never change. C'mon, then. Can see if we can use the transport. Spent most of my time in the back, though. The controls are probably simple enough."

He nodded. The transport was something that he'd never seen before, but he suspected that that was due to the time of its arrival. Before, he'd have been in bed or else still working at this time of night. By the time he'd left his smithy, the transport had never been visible. All of which added up to the conclusion that what little time they had left was swiftly running out.

He found himself reaching for Rose's hand as they headed for the vehicle. It was a reflexive gesture, as though he'd done this before. Maybe he had. She took it quickly enough, after all. Maybe this was what he did. Boldly went into danger or ran away from it – though the latter didn't ring true – holding her hand.

When they reached the cab of the transport, he peered into the interior. The dashboard's readouts were strangely familiar, but he wasn't certain if he could pilot the vehicle. There was no wheel. Just a round knob-like protrusion that could be considered the directional control. There were two depressions on either side of the knob in the shape of a 'v' – the ignition?

That was when he realised that Rose was muttering something. He could only catch a few words. 'Standard Hexidrag', 'control surface' and 'Sontaran' were the only ones he could make out. None of the prose made sense without context and, even then, he wasn't certain if hexidrag or Sontaran were words or labels. But it was still familiar. Just like Rose, he realised.

Was she the blonde from his dreams?

No matter.

Before he could reach for the handle, she had already opened the door. "I think I know how to drive this thing," she said and paused, turning to look at him with a hesitant expression her face. "Unless you want to?"

He shrugged and was about to reply when he was interrupted by the sound of shouting and pounding footsteps.

"Guards! We've got an escaped convict on the loose! Guards!" Reane, he identified immediately. The man sounded panicked. Good and bad at the same time, since the bloke wasn't likely to stop looking for him.

"Get inside," Rose hissed, pulling on his arm. "We've got to get out of here before they-"

"Oi! Over there! Get away from that transport!"

He practically launched himself into the cab, followed closely by Rose. As soon as the door swung shut behind her, he fumbled for the latching mechanism, hoping that there was a way to lock the doors.

There wasn't.

He didn't have to tell her to hurry; he could see that she knew. A worry-line appeared on her brow as she examined the controls. She hesitated for a moment before placing both of her hands against the v-shaped depressions.

Bracing himself, he held onto the handle as the guards reached the door. The latch was forced downwards, but he grimly held the door shut. They fought each other, strength versus strength, as the engine finally rumbled to life beneath them. The guard on his side of the cab met his gaze through the window, his lips twisted into a snarl.

"Rose," he said, but he didn't need to. She was well ahead of him.

He could see a few of the guards running around the front of the transport. Rose was busy trying to pilot the vehicle. If they got the door open...

"Rose," he repeated.

"Forward should be rolling this knob toward the window," she muttered at his side. However, as she pushed the knob forward, the transport moved backwards, causing the guard that was holding onto his handle to overbalance and topple off the vehicle.

"Bloody hell." Rose cursed and pulled the knob towards her, causing the transport to rocket forward.

It took a few false starts and several wrong turnings – at least according to the navigation assistant that Rose had located after a few button presses – before they were well on their way back to a city. According to her, this was where they'd initially arrived on Yervanos and where he'd be most likely to find his answers.

Good. He needed that.

"Doctor, there's something else. Wasn't sure if I should tell you now or wait, but I guess now's the best time. You don't remember anything, right? Nothing before arriving in the village a few weeks ago?"

He nodded. "Yeah. That's right." Now it was his turn to feel slightly suspicious. She knew this already, or could easily assume it.

"Think I can help with that. Not sure how, yet. But I suppose you could say we've got one up on the blokes that did this to you."

He just looked at her blankly.

"I know where your memories are," she explained. She turned to look at him for a moment with an unfathomable expression before returning her attention to the road ahead of them.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. They're up here," she said as she tapped the side of her head.

And he stared at her in shock.

* * *

She could practically feel his astonishment. Then again, she couldn't exactly blame him. How often did one hear that someone else had your memories inside their head? Wasn't something she'd ever experienced before, despite the Doctor's being slightly psychic. She knew enough now to realise that it wasn't like that, of course. Yet it had to be said.

"You've got my memories in your head." There was the disbelief.

"Yup," she replied. "Not sure how you managed it, though. I figured it out when I started knowin' things that I shouldn't. Alien technology, weird martial arts moves, that sort of thing. Even suspect I've dreamed about it, too."

He fidgeted beside her and, though she didn't turn to look at him, she could easily imagine his expression. The Doctor was an intensely private person. Though he'd shared a great deal with her before their arrival on Yervanos, she knew without a doubt that this was far beyond what he'd ever intended to let her know. Admittedly, she couldn't call up any memory without context and, even then, it was hazy and fragmented. She knew that it was enough to make anyone uncomfortable.

"'M sorry," she said softly. "I didn't know how to tell you, but there really isn't a good way. Just coming out and saying it seemed best."

"I know," he responded after what seemed to be an eternity. "Just tell me this, Rose Tyler."

"Anything." The word was immediate and heartfelt.

"Have I killed anyone?"

She almost drove the transport into a rock and she quickly corrected their course. He wanted to know if he'd killed. How could she answer that? She knew he'd had his reasons. The best, though it tore his soul a little more each time he was forced to make that decision. But, if she told him truthfully that he had, how would he react?

_There are thousands of ways to kill or to save. And, sometimes, to save means you have to kill._

She took a deep breath and let the words come. When she spoke, it was as if she were in a half-daze, not really knowing the words but knowing their meaning. "To answer your question, it requires a story. You'll have to judge for yourself. There was a species that believed that anything that wasn't like them had to be destroyed. Anything. Everything. Be it human or alien, if it wasn't exactly like them, it was exterminated. They were a plague on this universe and little to nothing could stop them. They were immune to disease, to hunger, to weaponry. Thousands tried to fight against them, but they all died. Until another species saw what was happening and knew what it would mean to the web of time should they continue. So, they decided to step in, to fight back. And it became a war that raged through time and space.

"Battle after battle was fought and lost. Many died until, finally, the Daleks reached their enemy's homeworld. Though they were losing, they were not defeated. There was one way they could ensure that the rest of the universe was safe from the Daleks. Just one. The Lord President ordered one person – the only one that she trusted enough to do it – to push the button when the time came."

In her mind's eye, she could see it as if she were there. And, in a way, she was. She was the Doctor and he was her in an instant in her imagination. "He knew it had to be done, though it tore him apart to have to choose this terrible, terrible option. Gallifrey was falling. And the President gave the order to save the universe. So he did what she asked. He pushed the button and Gallifrey was destroyed. And, with her, so went the Daleks. A species for a species. A fair trade, in a way, but it was the only choice available to them. The only way to stop them. And it did. But he survived."

She turned toward him and met his grim gaze with one of her own. "Tell me, Doctor, does that make him a killer? Or a saviour? Or both? When there is no choice. When a life must be taken to save another, or a universe, is that murder?"

He sighed and looked away, his hands fisting in his lap. "I don't know."

"Neither do I," she admitted quietly.

"I think I dreamed about it," he said, sending chills through her.

Despite the Ka Ra Nor. Despite everything he'd been through, why did that have to remain? Of all the good memories he had – of friends, of lives saved, of peaceful moments – he apparently retained none of them. He just had the bad. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes.

"Death. Blood. The screams of thousands as a planet burned. But it was all fragments. Brief images, but it was enough to make me wonder just who I was. What I was..." And slowly he began to tell her what had happened to him. How he'd been the blacksmith – which didn't surprise her, given his love of technology. How he'd been persecuted by a man named Reane. How he'd been caught carving images from his fragmented memories. How he'd been sentenced to death for remembering bits and pieces of his past. And, finally, how his friend Firin had found the courage to set him free.

She ached for him. God, she did. If she could, she would've taken all those experiences away from him. Sheltered him from the cruelty of others. Prevented it all. But she couldn't and hadn't. It was a guilt that had no reason, no logic. She felt it all the same.

He reached out a hand to her and she took it, drawing as much comfort and strength as she could from that simple contact. She should be the one comforting him. And, yet, there he was. Comforting her. As always. Even without his memories, he was still the Doctor. Her Doctor.

"'M sorry," she said. "No-one should have to go through that." And they shouldn't. It had to end. Somehow, someway, it had to end. And she'd be the one to do it. Or the Doctor. Or, preferably, both of them.

This wasn't what life was supposed to be. No harems full of women that the King had decided he fancied, no matter their previous attachments. No villages full of amnesiac people that had once sinned against the King...

"Wait a mo'. The village. Everyone there didn't have their memories, yeah?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Figure that they were training up a complacent work force. Bit of a radical way to go about it, but I suppose it worked for them."

"And that's why they punished you. 'Cause you were remembering. Which meant you were breaking the conditioning." She shuddered. It was like a bad X-Files episode, really. Government doesn't like something and they take care of it with brain-washing.

"Exactly," the Doctor replied. "That's not right. None of it is. Not the village. Not whatever it was that made me like this. Not any of it. And you know what, Rose Tyler?" He grinned suddenly and brilliantly. "We're gonna stop it."

She returned his smile with one of her own before returning her attention to the road. "Fantastic," she said, edging up the speed. "But, first, we should do somethin' about your memories."

There had to be something they could do. The Doctor was slightly telepathic. That shouldn't've changed. But, if he didn't have his memories, how would he know how to use it? And she certainly couldn't do it for him.

Maybe the TARDIS could help. They were returning to the city, after all. If they could just get back to the ship, that might trigger something in him. Sadly, even the Doctor's memories weren't helping.

"Do what with 'em? They're in you. Not in me. No way of getting them out of you into me. Bit of a problem, that."

Well, his sarcasm was still intact. She sighed. "There's got to be a way. You got them into me after all. We'll just have to duplicate it somehow. Getting back to the TARDIS'll probably help."

"TAR-DIS?" he asked, enunciating the word carefully. "I know that word. What is it?"

"Home," she responded. "Well, it's a ship. Nothing like this transport or anything else you might find on this planet. She travels through space and time."

"And that's what we do?" he asked. "We travel through space and time?"

"Yeah. Get into trouble along the way, but that's what makes it interesting. Wouldn't trade it for the world," she said proudly, smiling as she spotted the first smoke trails in the distance. Chimneys. The city was just ahead.

"They probably have some sort of tracking device on this thing. When we get closer to the city, we should probably leave the transport behind. Think we left the TARDIS near the market, which is near the city centre. Shouldn't take more than half an hour to get back there. An', once inside, we can also take a look at those injuries of yours." She'd noticed the raw marks on his wrists when they were illuminated by the dashboard lights.

He shrugged. "'S nothing. Besides, Rose, you didn't tell me. What happened to you? An' why are you wearing that?"

She glanced down at the flimsy fabric of her dress and shrugged. "Got into an argument with a King. That's all." She wasn't about to mention the almost-rape or the fondling or the weeks of fear and worry that she'd experienced. He didn't need to hear it. Not when there were far more important things to worry about.

Like the price of tea in China.

The Doctor didn't look satisfied with that answer, but he didn't press. Clever man, she decided. Even when he didn't have his memories.

* * *

She was lying to him. Oh, not in so many words, but it wasn't the whole truth. She might've got into an argument with a King, but there was more to it than that. Much more. He just didn't know her well enough – at least, not yet – to know how far he could press or even if he should.

Rose was right, though. The transport was likely to have something tracking it. Leaving it behind would be best, especially since they could lose themselves in the city. He just wasn't certain if his clothing or Rose's would pass muster. Leather and gauzy fabric didn't seem to be the height of fashion in the village. However, he knew well enough to know that he couldn't judge the city by the village. Two completely separate entities. One was a prison. The other; well, it was probably just the same. Just a more gilded version.

When she pulled the transport to the side of the road within sight of the city, he turned to her with a question in his eyes. "You sure we shouldn't try to hide this?"

She shrugged. "Why hide it? They'll find it or they won't. Doesn't matter once we're well away from it."

He could accept that logic. And some minutes later, they were walking down the road toward the city. "Does it have a name? This city?"

Rose frowned. "Y'know, I'm not sure. Haven't heard anyone refer to it as anything other than the city. As if it's the only one. Which it might be. I didn't have much time to explore, to tell you the truth. Was mostly in the palace."

He keyed into both her words and her tone. The way she said 'palace' was with disdain, with anger mixed with loathing mixed with sorrow. But why? It rankled that he didn't know and wasn't certain how to ask. "Rose, are you sure you're all right?"

"Me?" she asked with a soft laugh. "I'm always all right. C'mon, then. Don't want to spend too much time out in the open. Once we're in the city, we can lose ourselves in the crowds. Out here it's too…" Her voice trailed off as she seemed to search for a word.

"Exposed?" he offered.

"Yeah."

Something told him that it was rare for Rose to take the lead. Not because she couldn't, but because he tended to do it instead. Even if his memories were restored, he hoped that he'd recall what had happened here and now. He probably didn't tell her enough how much he appreciated her company.

"Rose?" he asked sometime later, just before they crested the last hill before the city gates.

"Hmmm?" She sounded distracted, but he wouldn't be deterred.

"Thank you."

"What for?" She was apparently startled by his words.

"For helpin', for comin' after me, an' because I suspect that I don't say it enough."

The warm smile she gave him was well worth the effort as was the squeeze of her fingers around his. "You're welcome."

The road was starting to get crowded as other travellers and merchants made their way into the city. The pale stone walls, embellished with statues and hieroglyphs, loomed above them as they walked through the open gates. In a way, he suspected that they were meant to make newcomers to the city feel small and insignificant.

Too bad they didn't work on him.

He let Rose take the lead, following her as she weaved expertly through the crowds. Thankfully, they made it to the city centre without incident. And, when he saw the blue box set off to the side of the market stalls, he realised that he knew what it was. It was in his dreams and in his carvings.

"That it?" he asked Rose quietly as they moved toward it.

"Yeah," she replied, slipping what looked like a key from the pocket of her jacket.

What surprised him as Rose slid the key into the lock was how the others who wandered through the marketplace missed seeing the TARDIS. It was almost as if their eyes just slid past it, as if it didn't exist for them. Which didn't make sense. It was there. Right in front of him. And it was humming.

He followed her inside the ship and stopped, staring about in amazement. How anything so big fit into such a small space? He was about to ask Rose when he became aware of a loud buzzing noise.

It grew in strength and intensity, vibrating his teeth and his head. A piercing pain shot through his skull and he became aware of a golden light. In his mind. In his hearts. All around him.

Then he heard a word. No, his name, he realised.

_Doctor…_

And he found that he couldn't hold onto consciousness as the darkness slipped in.

_To be continued..._

* * *

_Due to the premiere of Torchwood tomorrow, I will not be posting the next chapter. Chapter 7 will be posted on Monday. _


	7. Chapter 7: We'll Always Have Yervanos

**Chapter 7: We'll Always Have Yervanos**

There was a saying that seemed oddly appropriate right about now. _'Always expect the unexpected'_. Well, she certainly hadn't expected to hear the sound of a body hitting the floor just after they'd entered the TARDIS. She spun around and rushed to the Doctor's side, immediately checking him for injury. There wasn't anything that she could see.

No sign of blood. No sign of a knock on the head. Nothing.

That was when she realised that the ship's normal background hum had changed. It sounded almost…contrite? "What did you do?" she asked the ship, though she doubted she'd be able to understand any sort of answer the TARDIS might be able to give.

The sound deepened and she noticed that the console's monitor was flashing. However, she was loath to leave the Doctor's side to check it out. She pressed two fingers against his carotid artery and breathed a sigh of relief when she found that his pulses were normal, if a bit slow. He was merely unconscious.

She was torn between trying to drag him across the metal grating to the captain's chair and letting him be. Her only fear was that she might cause him injury for the sake of trying to make him comfortable. So, she chose to leave him where he was. She carefully adjusted his arms and legs into a more relaxed position. And, shrugging off the leather jacket, she folded it carefully and placed it underneath his head as a makeshift pillow.

Once satisfied that he was as comfortable as she could make him, she turned her attention to the console. The Doctor's memories were providing her with some help with how to operate the TARDIS, but she had no desire to move them. Not yet, at least. Her concern was more for how to get the memories back where they belonged.

The viewscreen was covered with incomprehensible geometric patterns, something that her memories - or, rather, the Doctor's - told her was Gallifreyan. Even drawing on the memories, she couldn't translate what was displayed. From what she could tell, the language itself was based both on the graphic used, the order it was put in, and its angle. An 'a' could become a 'zed' could become a 'theta'.

"Thank god I'm British," she muttered. At least English wasn't as mucked up as Gallifreyan. Well, if she wasn't a native speaker she might think it was. She shook her head. This wasn't getting her any closer to finding a solution. Nor was the Doctor showing any signs of waking up.

The screen flared for a moment before settling into a new configuration. Frowning, she examined the reconfigured symbols, finally realising that one particular one was flashing in the corner. Figuring that she had nothing to lose, she lightly touched the graphic on the screen and, once again, the image changed.

It was a man. Well, a picture of one. And she knew him immediately. It was - her - the Doctor. Rather, a previous incarnation. Seventh, if she recalled correctly. Complete with red question-mark-handled brolly, a panama hat, and a mischievous expression.

"What's that supposed to…" she began before a memory overwhelmed her.

_"I'm so sorry, Ace," she said sadly, staring deeply into the girl's eyes. Just the touch of a finger against her companion's forehead, the command to 'sleep and forget', and it was done. "No one's meant to know their own future."_

_"Not even me," she continued, leaving Ace to return her attention to the console. Such decisions always weighed heavily on her. To erase a memory was to erase a piece of one's self. But, in this case, the Web of Time demanded it. Too much foreknowledge was a terrible burden._

_She wouldn't wish that upon anyone. Least of all Ace._

_"I'm so sorry," she repeated and waited for her friend to awaken from her induced slumber._

She blinked and slowly the console room returned to brilliant focus. It was a clue. Had to be. The Doctor had removed someone's memories by touching their forehead. Could he do the same to get them back?

No, wait. That was a stupid idea. He didn't know who he was beyond a name. He didn't have any of his knowledge. How could he be expected to play the telepath when he didn't even know he had that ability? At least, she assumed he didn't, and it was rather hard to ask him since he was still unconscious.

The TARDIS's hum deepened again and she frowned. "You can help?" she asked, wondering how she knew that.

A treble entered into the ship's sound. An agreement?

"Hope you know what you're doing," she replied.

"I always know what I'm doing," a familiar voice responded. "Except when I don't."

* * *

There was something about her expression when she turned that made him want to embrace her. It was a hint of vulnerability - when she'd shown him nothing but competence and conviction - and a glimmer of relief and happiness. Then he noticed what she was wearing. Or, rather, what she wasn't.

Only bits of strategically-placed cloth and jewellery covered her body - an outfit that didn't fit everything that he'd seen of her. It was clothing specifically designed to tempt - and it did, but not as much as Rose herself.

"Rose?" he asked, nodding at her garments.

She glanced down at herself and flushed. "Oh, right. Forgot about that. Nothing to worry about, Doctor. Jus' a little costume-play." She flashed him a brilliant grin that held a false note that set a pang through his hearts. "Not enough time to change, y'know. Too much to do."

He didn't believe her. There was more to it than that. He could see the faded greenish-yellow tinge of bruising on her skin. "You're hurt."

"Nah," she replied with a shrug. "'S nothing. Just a little bump. Think I figured out how to get your memories back, though. Might be a bit difficult." It was an obvious tactic to change the subject, but he indulged her. The pleading look in her eyes told him that she wasn't ready to talk about it. He just hoped he'd remember this moment when she was.

"Oh?" Not the most eloquent of responses, admittedly, yet it worked.

"Yeah. Ever seen…no," she corrected herself. "'Course you haven't seen it. Right. Anyway." Rose crossed the short distance between them, stopping just short of coming what would've been too close for comfort. The dress - if he could call it that - was far too distracting. "You need to touch me."

He blinked and searched for something to say before utterly failing.

Her eyes brimmed with what he assumed was understanding and something else as she reached out to touch his hand. The feel of skin-on-skin was enough to startle him, but he took her hand willingly enough. "Like this," she said and brought his fingers to her face, indicating where he should touch her.

Swallowing nervously, though he knew there was no reason for it, he moved his fingers to her temple and…

There was nothing but him staring into her deep brown eyes, the feel of his fingers against her skin, and the sudden awareness of an indescribable something that flared to life at the back of his mind.

And then everything went white.

* * *

It was flashes of memory…

_There was comfort in knowledge. The TARDIS library was a favourite haunt no matter the regeneration. Admittedly, his tastes would vary from incarnation to incarnation - though he'd never been able to explain the copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone - but the library remained._

_It was here that he allowed himself to mourn the deaths and departures of his companions, sheltered amongst the books that were as much as part of him as the TARDIS. It was here that he sought guidance as much as the Cloisters when he needed a good think. And it was here that he'd first learned about the War._

_A summons home had overwhelmed him and, when he'd arrived, he'd known that something was terribly wrong. It had been. War had come to Gallifrey after all this time and he was required to fight._

_So he had. At Betrallix Minor, he'd had to watch friend after friend fall before the Daleks but the battle resulted in a draw. At Arcadia, where only dust and ashes remained of a lush and vibrant civilisation that had given their lives to bring the war to its ultimate turning point._

_On Gallifrey…_

_He closed his eyes against the recollection and let the comforting smell of leather and paper fill his senses. Now, he was here for a different purpose. He was here to examine his mind. Intimately. Deeply. To determine just why he'd let Rose Tyler see her dad. Not once, but twice, violating every rule of Time that he'd ever known._

_Stupidity? Oh, it was monumental stupidity, but that wasn't it. Regret for almost killing her time and again? The desire to put things right by letting her have her dearest wish? No. No, it was something deeper still._

_It was..._

Snippets. Words and thoughts and deeds and emotions and knowledge.

It was masks and labels. It was Ka Faraq Gatri. The Oncoming Storm. The Bringer of Darkness. Time's Champion.

He was a rebel, a musician, a dandy, a bohemian, a cricketer, a clown, a manipulator, a poet.

And he became aware of where he was. It was the TARDIS console room and his hands… Rose.

She leaned into his touch, the furrow between her eyebrows hinting at a measure of pain. Oh, Rassilon, what had he done? "Rose?"

She blinked at him and she slowly focused upon his face, his soft smile. "Doctor?" His name carried a thousand questions. Was it really him? Did he know who he was?

He knew. And, now, so did she. She knew everything, provided she still remembered it. His hurts, his pains, his silent torture. The knowledge that he'd destroyed his own planet. Not just his deeds, but who he was. He'd never wished that upon anyone, least of all her. His Rose. Who'd saved him again without question, despite not knowing what he'd done. It'd just taken a farewell touch, a farewell hug, and it'd been done. He'd given her his memories without her permission and he'd gone through the Ka Ra Nor.

And left her in Hell.

Guilt howled through his psyche as he tried his best to muster a shadow of his usual manic grin. "Hello!"

Her chin trembled, but she didn't cry. Nor did she close the distance between them, despite the time they'd spent apart. He couldn't blame her, though. After everything he'd done and lost, this was what hurt the most.

She looked at him with far-too-wise eyes - an expression that he knew far too well as it was one he saw every day in the mirror - and smiled. "'Bout time you got back. Was getting' a bit crowded up here." She tapped the side of her head and he winced reflexively.

How do you tell someone 'thank you' when they've gone further than anyone was meant to go? When they saved you every day, just by being there? When they came to rescue you, even when you didn't know who you were, and brought you home? He remembered every moment from the instant he'd lost his memories up until regaining them. And it painted a picture that astounded and amazed him.

He'd underestimated her. And he vowed to never do so again.

His look softened as he moved his fingers just enough so his palms rested against her cheeks. Cradling her face between his hands he smiled gently at her. "You, Rose Tyler, are fantastic," he said, meaning every word and more. There were thousands of things that he wanted to say, needed to say, but he couldn't.

That was as much of a curse as his memories.

Which brought him back full circle to the beginning. He released her and practically bounded to the console, his fingers dancing across the controls. "Right. Technology that shouldn't be here. Wrong type of society for this time period. Know what that means? Someone's been muckin' about with low-tech civilisations again."

Rose came to his side and he refrained from looking at her, mostly because her lack of clo… "Wait a mo'. I remember." He spun towards her, gripping her shoulders lightly. "Rose, what happened after I was sent through the Ka Ra Nor?"

She wouldn't meet his gaze. That alone was telling. "Nothin' much. Got a nice tour of the palace. Made a friend an' an enemy. Got thrown in jail, got out of jail, got sent to the King…" Rose winced and, if anything, withdrew into herself. She obviously hadn't meant to tell him that.

She was in the palace and got sent to the King. And, if he didn't miss his guess, the outfit she was wearing was because of that. She must've been in the… Oh, no. Rose. The harem. She must've been in the harem, and if the King had done anything to her, not a stone would be standing in that palace when he was done with it.

Anger coursed through him. "Rose, were you in the harem?" He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from her.

She nodded slightly. "The King fancied me. Guess I'm a bit exotic. Has a thing for blondes, apparently." She still wasn't looking at him and he'd had enough of that. He gently touched her chin, lifting her face so he could look into her eyes.

Along with everything he'd seen before, he could also see a core of hurt and shame that she couldn't hide. "I should get changed," she said softly, trying to pull away from him.

"Rose. Did they hurt you?" he asked her, searching her gaze for a hint of what might've happened.

She shook her head. "Nah. Ended up hurting a few of them, though. Never knew Venusian Aikido could come in handy."

He rocked back on his heels, stunned. "Venusian Aikido?" he repeated.

"Yeah. Came in handy, that," she replied, smiling. And he knew that look. She was hiding the truth again, but how could he fault her that desire? He'd tried for so long to hide who he was and what he'd done from her; how could he deny her the same? No. He could, because that wasn't who she was.

_But she could be now_, a traitorous part of his mind reminded him. _You think she hasn't been changed because of what she had inside her? Because of your memories? You think any human could hold all that knowledge and not be changed?_

What had he done?

Yet she'd survived. Survived with his memories inside her. She'd even used them to escape and to restore him to the way he was. He was whole because of her. All because Rose Tyler had been able to withstand something she shouldn't've been able to.

She really was fantastic.

"Good," he finally replied after one last searching glance. He wasn't dropping this topic by any means, but he could defer it for a while. Until Yervanos was sorted, this would wait. Giving her shoulders a fond squeeze, he let her go and returned his attention to the console. "Right. Best thing is to sort what we know. Yervanos' civilisation isn't how it's supposed to be. And the Ka Ra Nor is..."

"Sontaran technology, yeah?" Rose interrupted, startling him enough that he blinked at her in shock. "The Ka Ra Nor. It's Sontaran, isn't it? Identical Mister Potato-head-looking guys with nasty tempers?"

How would she know…oh, right. His memories. He nodded. "Yeah. That's right." A sudden thought struck him and he eyed her carefully. "How much can you remember?"

"From 'aving your memories in my head?" She shrugged once he nodded in response. "A bit, at least. Think I might be able to pull off more Venusian Aikido if I need to. I remember the Sontarans, an' something about Ace and her memories. There's a bit about the Brigadier an'…" She paused, looking at him regretfully. "I remember what I told you in response to your question about if you were a killer."

She did remember the War. What he'd done. Maybe not the specifics, but enough. "I'm sorry," he said, unable to think of how else to respond.

"I'm not," she replied fiercely. "Listen, Doctor. I'm glad I was able to save your memories. 'Cause, even though without 'em you're still you, I happen to like you as you are. I'm glad that you trusted me enough to let me carry them, even though you didn't have enough time to tell me what you were doing. And I'm glad that I was able to do something to help. So don't apologise. There's no reason for it."

"Rose." He whispered her name. "There is. You shouldn't have to…"

"To what? Know who you are? Doctor, I've always known who you are. What you are. You're my best friend. An' you shouldn't have to keep those things to yourself. I'm here, yeah? What was it that…oh, yeah. A burden shared is a burden halved, or somethin' like that."

He shook his head, once again amazed by her. She should run. She should want to get as far away from him as possible. She _knew_ him. Knew exactly what he'd done. And, instead of doing the right thing, she stayed.

A moment later, he felt her arms slide around his torso and she hugged him from behind. "It'll be all right."

He wished he believed her, but he decided to try his best to maintain the illusion. "Yeah. So, right. Where were we?"

"Sontarans," Rose prompted.

"Ah, yes. Sontarans. Nasty lot. Question is why'd they leave their tech on this planet? Doesn't make sense, that. Unless…"

"Invasion?" she suggested.

"Too simple." He frowned as he scanned the readout on the viewscreen. "We're 'bout ninety or so light-years from the closest Rutan-Sontaran battleground. Doesn't make sense for them to try and invade here. 'S not even near the major trading routes and it's certainly not of any strategic importance. Just another planet."

"Except for their 'fantastic pasta'," she said, reminding him of the reason they'd come to Yervanos in the first place.

He felt rather sheepish about that particular reminder. "Oh, they do. Just wasn't my fault we arrived about fifty years too late."

"Uh-huh."

"Oi! Don't argue with the designated driver!" he replied, but even the humour struck him as false. He'd had his memories stolen. Rose had been in a harem. And now they had to sort it.

He grinned as a thought occurred to him. "Oh, what if the Sontaran-Rutan lines are going to move? Tended to fluctuate rather wildly some years, an' ninety light years isn't that great of a distance knowin' them." He hit another few controls and watched as the battle-lines rippled and expanded.

Sure enough, Yervanos would end up in the new heart of Rutan territory - some sixty years from now. It was meant to be a foothold planet. The Rutan wouldn't care about the Yervanosians. They'd be left alone provided they didn't interfere in the war. But, if the Sontarans won the planet, the people were as good as dead or enslaved.

The Ka Ra Nor was just the start of a far-reaching plan to eventually bring Yervanos to its knees all for the sake of another world's war. Though this also meant that there was a time-travelling Sontaran about. Only way for them to know where the Rutan lines would move, actually. The Sontarans weren't known for being an imaginative and creative lot, even when it came to tactics.

Having Yervanos as a secret base behind Rutan lines would give the Sontarans an advantage that could - he quickly ran the calculations in his mind and corrected himself - would cause them to win the war. Without the Rutan to fight, the Sontarans would turn on the rest of the universe.

"But why the Ka Ra Nor?" Rose asked. "Doesn't make sense, does it? Why give this place the technology to wipe memories?"

Suddenly, it made complete sense. The village. The wiped memories. The village council. The people who were sent there and then returned to society. "It's the people. Should've guessed this before. I know why the Sontarans gave the King the Ka Ra Nor," he said, turning from the console to meet her gaze.

"Why?" she asked softly, apparently realising this was something of great import.

"Simple," he replied. "The Sontarans want slaves. Who better to have as a slave than someone who doesn't even know who they are? They're the perfect brain-washed victims who'll just roll over for them when they invade."

That was unacceptable.

And he and Rose were going to stop it.

_To be continued..._


	8. Chapter 8: Remember the Harem

**Chapter 8: Remember the Harem**

Rose dried herself off roughly, ignoring the sting of tears in her eyes as she spotted the finger-shaped bruises on her skin. That was then. It didn't matter, not any more. The Doctor was safe and back to normal. She, however, doubted that she'd ever be normal again.

So she wouldn't let herself think about it. She wasn't thinking about almost getting raped. She wasn't thinking about the weeks of oppression, the emotional torture and the jail cell. She wasn't thinking about the look on the King's face as he came towards her, the feel of his lips pressed hard against hers, the touch of his hands...

She shuddered as she pulled on her clothing, letting it serve as another layer of armour for her damaged psyche. She knew, now, why the Doctor wore his leather jacket. She knew because she needed that for herself.

When she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, she was arrested. Her body was thinner, leaner. But what held her in place, staring in shock, was her eyes. They were brown, as always, but within them she could see an added depth that hadn't been there before. She knew things now, things that no-one from the twenty-first century should know, should be aware of. She'd grown up over the past few weeks.

She closed her eyes and whispered words that had never before seemed so true. "The fairy tale's over." When she opened them again, she smiled wryly at her reflection. "This is when real life begins."

Turning from the mirror, she left the steam-filled bathroom behind and returned to the console room. The monolithic room was comforting to her and she let the soft hum of the TARDIS reassure her. She'd be all right. Eventually.

Rubbing absently at her shoulder - the site of one of the deepest of her bruises - she looked for the Doctor. She'd expected him to be at the console, examining readouts or flipping switches. They had an invasion to stop. Admittedly, it was a time machine, but some things just couldn't wait.

They were part of events now, and they had to see this through.

Yet she couldn't see him. He wasn't at the console, tinkering with the controls. He wasn't sitting in the captain's chair, waiting for her. Instead…ah, there he was. The Doctor was sitting on the floor. He'd found another leather jacket somewhere - his, presumably, destroyed - and she had to admit that it was reassuring to see. A moment later she realised that it was the leather jacket that she'd liberated from the King's wardrobe, recognising the stitching on the sleeve.

She examined him further. He'd braced his back against the console and his long legs were stretched out before him. His expression was bleak and, an instant later, she knew why. In his hands, she could see the TARDIS box.

And, on his face, she could see a single tear.

"Doctor?" she asked tentatively. She hadn't known what the box was beyond that it was something from his homeworld. She'd almost forgotten about it in the excitement of returning the Doctor's memories to him.

He looked up at her and smiled faintly, though she knew there was no real emotion behind it beyond a brief welcome. "Rose. Where'd you find this?" he asked, nodding at the box.

"The King's apartments," she said, immensely proud of herself when her voice didn't falter and she didn't wince. "Found it, the TARDIS key and the sonic screwdriver in his library. There were some other things there, but those were the ones that caught my eye."

"Had one of these once upon a time," he said softly, pressing the sides and letting the objects inside tumble onto his lap. "Never thought I'd see one again."

She didn't know what she could say, what she could do. So she settled for sitting beside him, leaning into him slightly and looking at the object in his hands. The silence stretched between them, at times comfortable, at times not; however, she didn't feel the need to break it until the Doctor took the choice out of her hands.

"It's a child's puzzle box," he said softly, as if in answer to her unspoken question. His lips twitched slightly at, she assumed, the term 'child'. From what little she could remember from having the Doctor's memories within her, there was no childhood in the human sense of the word on Gallifrey.

She nodded as she looked at the objects scattered across his lap, reaching out to lightly touch the pendant-like item that had the same stylized figure-8 symbol that decorated the top of the box. The Seal of Rassilon.

There were some things that looked like ancient versions of the sonic screwdriver and bits of metal that could be anything. He touched each item in turn, brushing against her fingers where they rested against the pendant. She suppressed a shiver at the feel of his skin against hers, even though it was only momentary.

She'd never wanted to withdraw from his touch before, but now she did. The memory of the King…

_No. Stop it,_ she told herself firmly. This was the _Doctor_. Her best friend. The man she... She wouldn't complete that thought.

He was looking at her, she realised. All consideration of the objects in his lap was apparently abandoned in favour of staring at her. He knew something was wrong. How couldn't he? She'd always been an open book to him, but now all she wanted to do was hide.

"You all right?" he asked softly.

"Should I be askin' you that?" she replied. She didn't want to remember what had happened to her. Didn't want to even think about it. Even though it was him, she didn't want him to know how bad it actually was. He'd only blame himself for something he had no control over. She knew what guilt he carried now. He didn't need any more. "I'm not the one who spent the last few weeks without my memories."

"Nor am I the one who was in the King's harem."

She didn't wince. At least, that was what she told herself. "'M fine. Don't we have a Sontaran to stop? Sittin' here isn't exactly savin' the day, y'know." What happened to her wasn't important. Didn't matter. What mattered was stopping the invasion and sorting Yervanos.

Then, perhaps, she could allow herself the luxury of giving in and remembering what had happened.

Alone.

* * *

He sighed as he placed his hands on the console, letting the hum of his ship comfort him as he considered what to do next. Rose was lying to him, that much was obvious. Just as it was evident that she wasn't ready to talk about it. Who was he to demand that she tell him what she was thinking? What she was feeling?

Who was he to demand something of her that she couldn't demand of him? Secrets had been a fundamental part of his existence. Not because he didn't want to talk to those he cared about, but because he didn't want to remember.

_It was the death knell of a million souls, a million screams in his mind before there was nothing at all. In the echoing silence of his once full mind, he mourned._

He'd never told Alistair what had happened, though the man had been able to guess. He'd never talked about Arcadia or the War. It'd been easier that way. At least, he'd thought it had been. Now Rose knew. Perhaps not all the details since her mind wouldn't've been able to cope with it all, but enough.

He wondered if that knowledge had helped her to choose to shut herself off from him. Her version of the battered leather jacket, her version of his armour. He wanted to yell at her, to tell her that this wasn't her. She couldn't do this to him.

But she hadn't, had she? He'd done it to _her_. He'd caused all of this. Yet another layer of guilt to add to several centuries' worth of the same.

"I could go back to the harem," Rose suggested, startling him out of his thoughts.

"No." The word was adamant. She wouldn't go back there. She couldn't. He wasn't going to let her out of his sight. Anything might've happened in the harem. He'd seen the bruises. Seen the way she shied away from his touch unless she was the one that initiated it. What if, and he hated to even consider it, she'd been raped?

If she had, he swore to himself that nothing would stop him from tearing the King and the entire bloody city apart in revenge.

She placed her hand on top of his. "Doctor, you know as well as I do that we can't do this alone. Not after what happened before. We tried that, yeah? An' that didn't turn out well for either of us."

His jaw clenched in reaction. Her words were an understatement of the truth. If anything, it'd turned out worse for her. However, he had to admit that she had a point. Much as he'd prefer going it alone - he had toyed with the thought of telling her to stay in the TARDIS, but he knew she wouldn't obey - he knew that it wouldn't work.

"I'm jus' thinking more of starting something. A distraction. A revolution, whatever. I know some of the women hated the way they were treated. They would've fought, but they didn't know how or were too scared to. They didn't think they could escape. But I did. That might help to persuade 'em. An' the only way to do that is to go back to the harem. They wouldn't listen to you," she said.

"Rose, I..."

"'S all right. It's the only way."

She was right. Much as he didn't want it to be true, it was. "Yeah," he agreed begrudgingly. "It is."

Rose looked down at herself, fingering her pink hoodie. "Though I won't really fit in like this. Suppose I should..."

He could see a thousand different emotions cross her face. Fear, guilt, loathing, and determination were the strongest of the lot. She didn't want to wear an outfit that turned her into an object and he couldn't blame her. "No," he replied, turning his hand under hers to grasp it in a comforting grip. "You don't have to. We'll go as we are."

"But the guards..."

"Can sod off," he replied firmly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. You know that, right?"

She looked at him for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. I know. I was jus'…"

"Just nothing," he said gently, touching her cheek. "We'll go to the palace, talk to the women in the harem an' confront the King. Destroy the Ka Ra Nor, defeat the time-travelling Sontaran, and be back here before you know it. Yeah?"

She smiled. "Yeah." Then she paused, looking at him intently. "But I think I should go to the harem by myself. They wouldn't trust you, let alone feel free to talk around you. You can confront the King. An' then, well, since you do have the tendency of needin' to be rescued…"

"Oi!" he protested.

"…I'll follow with as many of the women as I can convince to fight back," Rose concluded.

He couldn't say that he liked the plan, but it'd have to do. "Fine. Then let's sort this mess. An', Rose," he said, pausing on his way to the door to meet her gaze. "Be careful."

She grinned, though it was a mere shadow of her usual smile. "I'm always careful. You too, yeah? Spent enough time on rescuin' you to have to do it again."

"It's me," he replied, giving her an innocent look.

"Exactly."

* * *

Getting into the palace was easy. All it'd taken was a few well-timed distractions and knocking out at least one guard. However, they were in and, now, she was alone. The Doctor had, after giving her one last intense look, headed off to confront the King, while she had to try and persuade fifty abused women to fight back.

Rose figured that, of the two jobs, she had the hardest one. Walking through the halls of the palace made her feel exposed, vulnerable. This was where she'd been treated as an object of lust, rather than the human being she was. This was where she'd almost been...

She mercilessly shoved that particular thought to the back of her mind. The harem was just ahead and, if she played her cards right, she could be in and out with a small army of women within the next fifteen minutes. That, of course, depended upon whether she could a) avoid the harem guards and b) convince the women that to fight was better than being enslaved.

For some, such as Erana, the choice would be easy. For others, like Izikela, she'd have a harder time. Because of Izikela's personal dislike for her, but also because living in the harem could be considered a comfortable life.

She could see it, though she'd never allowed herself to fall into that particular mind-trap. It was easier for some to let others make decisions for them. To fall into a routine, even though that routine was fundamentally wrong. To let someone in the position of authority abuse them, just because they were women. It was simpler to give up than to fight back.

Which was precisely why she'd refused to let herself give up. Where there was life, there was hope. Now, she hoped that seeing her would be enough to give that same hope back to the women in the harem.

She slowed her pace as she drew closer to the harem doors, knowing that there should be a guard or two stationed outside. Straining her senses, she tried to hear them breathing or moving. Anything to give her an idea if they were there.

There. She could hear the breathing of at least one person. One should be simple enough. She could still remember a bit of Venusian Aikido, at least enough to be dangerous. Hopefully she could still manage to knock someone out. Hopefully.

Biting her lip, she stole a quick glance around the corner and was pleased when she realised the guard was very close. Should give her enough time to take care of him before he called out for help. 'Should' being the operative word.

She catapulted herself around the corner. Startled, the guard didn't have a chance to do more than place his hand on the hilt of his sword before she hit a specific part of his chest with the heel of her hand. "Easy," she said softly, watching him slide to the floor.

Turning her attention to the door, she twisted the key that'd always been kept in the lock and opened it wide. Judging it to be best to bring her unconscious friend inside the harem rather than letting him remain outside, she grasped the man's legs and began to drag him across the hallway.

As soon as she started to cross the threshold, one of the women began to scream. That woman was quickly shushed by a voice that she recognised all too well.

"Rose?" Erana asked in astonishment. "What in Yilsa's name are you doing here?"

Once she was satisfied the guard was inside, she withdrew the key from the lock and closed the door. Disarming the guard took less time and she finally turned to face her friend. With a wide grin, she shrugged. "Told you I'd be back."

"But the guard, and your clothes, and the King…" Erana seemed unable to string words together properly to form a sentence.

"Oh, that? I escaped," she replied. "Simple, really."

"You came back, though. Why?" Erana asked, mystified.

It was the perfect opening. She just hoped she didn't muck it up.

Before she could do more than open her mouth to begin, Izikela interrupted her, "She never was a clever one, now, was she? Injuring the King is a Ka Ra Nor offence."

"Might be an offence," she said, doing her best to meet the gaze of everyone in the room. "But there's an even greater offence happenin' even now. Here and now. This life? This dressin' in flimsy outfits 'cause some old bloke can't get his jollies otherwise? This livin' in constant fear that you're gonna be the next one the King fancies? 'S not right. An' you, all of you, have the power to stop it."

Someone snorted in disbelief. Someone else laughed nervously. Erana simply stared at her in shock while Izikela merely shook her head. "What can we do?" Izikela sneered. "This is our life, Rose. It's not our fault that you choose to live in your little fantasy-land of black and white."

"That's where you're wrong, Izikela," Erana said, whirling on the other woman. "Rose is right. We've given in too much. Did you see what had happened to Tolla after she came back from her visit to the King? Did you see the bruises, the welts or the blood? Did you see the infection that kept her in bed for weeks? Remember Reanna? Ulla? Nistra? Remember having to bury them after one visit to the King cost them their lives?"

Izikela shook her head. "Remember the women who tried to escape before? They died, Erana. Think what rebelling would do to us? We'd all be punished. Better to stay safe than..."

"No." Another woman spoke up, one that she recognised but had never socialized with. "That's how it always is. Staying safe. But it isn't safe here, now is it?"

"It's safer than..." Izikela began.

"Than what? Waitin' for the King to come for you? Waiting for your turn under his fist? Waiting for your death? That's safer?" she asked.

"Yes. Because I have control..."

"Control?" Erana scoffed. "That's as much of a fantasy as you were accusing Rose of earlier. You know that as well as I." Her friend looked at her intently. "What're you thinking?"

"Oh, me? I'm thinking of paying a visit to the King." She fought against her urge to shudder at the thought of facing him again, but she had to. Despite the phantom-memory of his hands pawing her body, despite what had almost happened, she must confront him.

It was the only way she could start to heal. And, with her, hopefully the rest of this planet.

* * *

Nine hundred years (give or take a couple of hundred) on, and some things remained constant. Suns would rise and set. Time would move on. And absolute dictators bent on megalomaniacal conquest would always be idiots.

He'd found the King easily enough. Hard to hide when one was wearing an atrocity of purple and gold that had no place being on anyone's clothing, let alone that of a ruler. He should know, given some of the outfits his previous incarnations had been fond of. He just wished he'd had some means of capturing the King's expression when he'd walked into the room.

It was absolutely priceless.

"Oh, don't look so stunned, Tulern," he said, grinning at the assorted gasps from the councillors and courtiers that filled the room. "Thought I'd pop in, say hello and tell you that this stops now."

"Guards!" the King shouted to little avail.

His grin widened. "Oh, shout all you like. Your guards are currently sleeping on the job. Should probably do something about that."

"What have you done?" The words were softly spoken, but full of an unvoiced threat. It was almost laughable how predictable the man was.

"Not me, your Majesty. You. What have _you_ done," he corrected, putting as much scorn in his voice as possible. "Not very clever of you to make a deal with the Sontarans, was it? Meddling with technologies you don't even understand. Easiest way to destroy your pathetic little kingdom, that."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the King replied haughtily. "You are out of order."

"No, King Tulern. _You_ are out of order," a breathy, almost whispering, voice replied from somewhere behind the throne. Though it'd been years since he'd last heard one - practically centuries - he recognised the characteristic tone.

A second later, his suspicions were confirmed as five Sontarans stepped out from behind the King. Four of them aimed their weapons at the crowd, while the fifth confronted the King.

"You lied to us, Tulern. You have not delivered on your promise to the Sontaran Empire."

The King's eyes widened dramatically as he cringed away from the alien in front of him. "I have, Skrrant!"

"The numbers are not sufficient for our purposes. You have converted merely one-hundred of your people. We have learned that those subjected to the Ka Ra Nor have been your enemies. We require more," Skrrant replied.

Enough of this. He walked forward, ignoring the other Sontarans as they turned to cover him with their weapons. "Oi! Hello there, Skrrant, isn't it? D'you mind? I was in the middle of a chat with the King. Bit rude interrupting like that."

"Who are you?" Skrrant asked, seeming to realise that he was different from the cowering humans in the room.

"You don't recognise me?" he asked, feigning dismay. "I'm hurt. Surely you lot haven't forgotten the man you've named the Bringer of Darkness."

"The Doctor?" one of the Sontarans gasped.

He grinned. "That's me. Hello!"

"Then this is a good day for the Sontaran Empire," Skrrant said, turning to aim his weapon at him. "Today, Doctor, you die."

He didn't let the grin falter. "Now where's the fun in that?"

_To be continued..._


	9. Chapter 9: Confrontations

**Chapter 9: Confrontations**

Rose decided that she hated the palace. Hated its lush décor, hated the men that resided in it, and especially hated the King. It was easier to hate than to fear. It gave her strength, a strength that she needed to follow through with her earlier plans. Though she presented a calm and collected face to the forty-odd women with her, she felt anything but.

She was about to face the King. The man who'd almost... She wouldn't complete the thought. Couldn't. Not yet, at least. Later, in the security of the TARDIS and behind a locked door, maybe.

For now, she allowed her loathing for the King overwhelm her other, more troublesome, emotions. It would be a confrontation, nothing more. She'd face him with the women of the harem. They'd defeat him through sheer numbers and then she and the Doctor could go back to their real lives. She wanted nothing more than to put Yervanos, and everything it entailed, behind her. Never to be seen or spoken of again.

Oh, she knew that nothing ever went to plan, least of all a confrontation with a man like the King of Yervanos. However, she liked the fantasy of an easy defeat and an even easier departure. It'd make a welcome difference from her life of the past few weeks.

She paused on the brink of opening the doors to the throne room when she became aware of an unfamiliar voice speaking behind the semi-closed doors. She could only hear snippets of conversation but it was enough to cause dread to pool in the pit of her stomach.

Yet another time when carefully laid out strategies went awry.

_...You lied ... You have not delivered on your promise to the Sontaran Empire..._

_Surely you lot haven't forgotten the man you've named the Bringer of Darkness._

The Doctor. He was in trouble. Biting her lower lip, she turned toward Erana. "We've got a bit of a problem."

"A bit of a problem," Erana repeated softly, raising both of her eyebrows. "What sort of a problem? You won't be able to convince them again if this fails, you know that, right?"

She shook her head. "Not that sort of problem. There's just something you should know. The Ka Ra Nor is alien. An' the aliens that gave it to the King are in there now, threatenin' the Doctor."

"Aliens?" Erana asked, eyes wide. "What do you mean 'aliens'?"

"I mean aliens. Like people from another planet. Bit like me, actually. Though I don't resemble Mister Potato Head and these blokes do," she replied. She tried her best to describe Sontarans through hand gestures, but decided that she wasn't suited to playing charades.

"Rose, that's impossible. There's no such thing as life on other worlds. This is it. Just Yervanos." Erana's expression made it perfectly clear that the women thought she was mad.

Great. The Doctor was in trouble and now she had to convince Erana of her sanity. "Oh, anything's possible, Erana. Even alien life. An' if I open these doors, you'll know exactly what I mean."

She couldn't do it, though. If she opened the doors, it'd alert the Sontarans that they were there. They needed to be able to surprise them. Overwhelm them, if necessary. From what little she could remember of the Sontarans from the Doctor's memories, they were always armed. When she considered the sounds coming from inside the throne room, she didn't doubt that they were armed and dangerous. Probably more than one, too.

"Erana, d'you know if there's another way into the throne room? Back entrance or anything?" she asked. Maybe if they divided themselves, half in the front, half in the back, they could startle the Sontarans enough for the Doctor to do whatever it was that he was planning to do. Knowing him, he'd have plenty of ideas. Just no ability to follow through.

That was what she was for.

"You can get in from the King's apartments," someone said from somewhere near the front of the group of women. The voice was strangely familiar and it took her a moment to realise that it was Izikela.

She turned in shock to see the older woman smiling faintly at her. "I've been through the secret passage before. It comes out just behind the throne."

"There's a force-field around the King's apartments. We wouldn't be able to get in," she said, suddenly regretting that she'd returned the sonic screwdriver to the Doctor.

Izikela shook her head. "That's not true." Her expression brimmed with remembered pain. "I can get in."

She blinked at her, momentarily stunned to silence. Izikela had what amounted to free rein in the King's apartments. The other woman could enter and exit at will but, if she were to judge, she tried her best to avoid doing so. But why would _Izikela_ have that particular right?

"I am First in House," Izikela murmured. That would do it. That meant that there'd been a reason Izikela had behaved as if she were the leader of the harem.

She was. As First in House or, as she'd learned from Erana, the King's wife – not Queen, not here – Izikela had the duty to lead and control the harem. And it also cast a new picture over the other woman's treatment of her. Izikela knew that she was a rebel and had been trying to curb her tendencies. Because, as First in House, the punishment of any of the women was hers as well.

It'd been self-defence, and she cursed herself for not seeing it sooner. "I'm sorry," she replied, putting as much remorse as she could in the words. She wasn't sorry for escaping, but she was apologetic for the consequences that Izikela must've suffered.

Izikela waved off her apology. "You're right, Rose. It is enough."

She smiled and nodded quickly. "Then this is what we're going to do," she began, doing her best to meet the eyes of the other women. "Izikela, Erana, I want the two of you…"

* * *

"The _fun_, Doctor, is that I will be renowned throughout the Sontaran Empire as the one who defeated you. This is the last time you will meddle in our affairs," Skrrant said, his breathy voice an almost-growl.

"Heard that before. Thousands of times, actually. Still here, though." He grinned. Maybe it was a bit cocky – all right, a lot cocky – but he couldn't resist. Sometimes, evil just needed to be teased.

"Not for much longer."

"Not one for originality, are you?" he replied, wishing that he had a convenient doorway to lean in. He slipped a hand into his pocket. "So when are you from, Skrrant? Forty, fifty years from now? A hundred?"

Something akin to surprise darted across the Sontaran's face as he met his gaze. "How do you know this?"

"Oh, please. If you want to hide something that obvious, you've got to try harder. Ever heard of subtlety? No, wait, sorry. Forgot who I was talking to for a mo'." He deliberately yawned. "Ever think of takin' note of this place's history? Ever think that somethin' like the Ka Ra Nor, or whatever you lot like to call it, might catch someone's attention? Like, oh, me?" He wasn't about to get into the reason why he and Rose had truly come to Yervanos in the first place. Somehow he doubted saying anything about the fantastic pasta that used to be available would impress anyone.

"It is necessary to..."

He cut Skrrant off with a curt movement of his hand. "Necessary?" he scoffed. "Necessary to muck with history? Necessary to give an idiot like Tulern here a device of that power? Seems a bit thoughtless to me. All for what? Just another meaningless victory in your never-ending struggle against the Rutan Host?"

"We will win," the Sontaran replied angrily.

He fought the urge to grin smugly. Best way to avoid getting killed was to keep your adversaries talking. It wasn't a mere boast to say that it worked every time. "Oh? So sure of that, are you? An' what about the people on this planet? Once the lot of them are brain-washed zombies, what're you gonna do then? Make 'em serve you until the Rutan come an' destroy the planet? Stupid, if you ask me. There're thousands of better plans you could've come up with. An' you end up with this. Fire your tactician. He's an idiot."

"Enough!" Skrrant shouted. "You have no place to question our plans. You-"

"Course I do," he interrupted him again. "Didn't you see the badge? Oh, bollocks, must've forgot to put it on. Sorry 'bout that. It says Bringer of Darkness – Questioning of Plans a Specialty. Even had cards made up. Remind me not to send you one."

"Tell me, Doctor, have you experienced the Ka Ra Nor?" the Sontaran asked.

"Yup. It tickled," he replied, unconcerned.

"It'd seem fitting to end your life this way, Doctor," Skrrant said with an oily smile. "In agony and in complete ignorance of who and what you are."

"That supposed to scare me?" Amateurs. Was it so much to ask for one imaginative enemy? Someone who might know how to properly threaten beyond death and agony? Even 'eliminate' had more inventiveness behind it than this lot. Reminded him why he'd never cared for Sontarans. They were boring.

"It is not necessary to scare you, Time Lord." The Sontaran gestured for his men to move forward to surround him. Apparently he'd been designated public enemy number one. The rest of the poor blokes stuck in the throne room were apparently not worth being threatened. It was almost flattering – then again, he was the most dangerous person here.

"What? Afraid I might do something to upset your plans? Well, can't say I fault you that. It's the truth, really. Well, 'might do' isn't the right term for it. 'Have done' would be better."

"Have done?" Skrrant repeated.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" He grinned as he pulled his hand – the hand that was holding the sonic screwdriver – out of his pocket. The device was humming loudly and, relatively nearby, he could hear the sound of something sparking. "Sonic screwdriver plus Sontaran technology equals big bang."

An instant later, the foundations rocked as something – presumably the Ka Ra Nor - exploded.

The Sontarans closed in, led by Skrrant. The alien radiated rage as he marched towards him, alternately gripping and releasing the handle of his weapon. "You will die for this, Doctor."

"No."

Skrrant paused for a moment, repeating the word. "No?"

"No, you won't kill me. No, you won't get to win your little war with the Rutan Host – not by any action you do today. An' no, I won't help you do anything to damage the timeline so you might as well give up an' go home. I'm guessing your Time Corridor is just down the hall?" He gestured in the general direction of the passage that had brought the Sontarans to the throne room.

They didn't look like they bought into his bravado. Pity. And he'd worked for so long on that particular speech – well, all of two seconds. He made a mental note to keep working on it.

Skrrant raised his weapon, aiming at a point just between his eyes.

Though he continued to smile, he allowed himself a moment of worry. If something happened to him, Rose would be left on her own. Regeneration sickness wouldn't allow him to help her until it was through, and she'd have to deal with the Sontarans.

He wasn't going to leave her and he wasn't going to regenerate.

He just wished he knew how to avoid that particular problem.

* * *

The secret passage wasn't very secret once she knew where to look. All it'd taken was slipping a book – something called _Ultellial_ – from one of the shelves of the library and the entire bookshelf opened to reveal a dark and musty-smelling stairwell. Some of the women looked hesitant about descending the staircase, but she decided that example would be the best way to convince them.

With Izikela at her side – and she still marvelled at that change – she began to walk down the stairs. The steps were obviously old, the passage not well-cared for, but it proved a welcome difference from the posh nature of the remainder of the palace. A tiny bit of normality in an otherwise extraordinary place.

"At the bottom of the stairs, there's a doorway. It leads into a short hall just behind the throne. It'll take us about three minutes to get there, so we'll need to be careful. If he's paying attention, he'd be able to hear us," Izikela said in a low voice.

She nodded. It'd be difficult to hide the movements of twenty women, especially since they'd never tried to be stealthy before. "There anythin' I need to know about the door? Secret catch or anything?"

"No. From this side, it just opens inward. It's almost invisible from the hallway."

"Good," she replied, already considering her next actions. Forming a mental picture of what little she recalled of the throne room from her one previous visit, she tried to imagine the best way of entering the room. Stealthily? Sneak up behind the King? Employ another bit of Venusian Aikido?

Or directly? Confront him, surrounded by the other women, and defeat him that way? Her mind whirled with thoughts and choices as she reached the bottom of the stairwell. The door was just before. A simple catch, that was simple to open with a not so simple result.

As she stepped out of the hidden passage, she found herself face-to-face with the one man that she wasn't prepared to meet. Not really and most especially not yet.

The King was just as startled as she was, but she managed to move before he had a chance to. It seemed to take less than a second to slam the man against the wall, keeping him pinned with her arm.

Her world narrowed to the King. All sight, sound and everything else dimmed in her mind. There was just him. And her.

She could see fear, desire and excitement in his eyes. He liked this. Liked her bracing him against the wall, liked the feel of her arm pressed against his throat.

It made her feel dirty. Used. Like she had before, only worse. She told herself that she had reason. This was for the Doctor, for herself, for the women who were only now coming out of the stairway behind her. He was a horrid man that deserved whatever she did to him.

For a moment she all but forgot the danger the Doctor was in. Forgot the Sontarans, forgot everything but the King. The bastard that had hurt her. Had almost raped her. And, yes, now she could think it. Now she could even say it. Because she could make him pay…

_No_. She stopped herself, horrified. This wasn't her.

Letting him go with a gasp of revulsion, she put as much distance between them as possible. She couldn't let him get away, but she couldn't touch him. Not after what she'd almost done.

And it would've been so easy, too. So simple. She could've killed him thanks to her knowledge of Venusian Aikido. Yet that wouldn't've solved anything. Sure, the King'd be dead, but the Doctor...

_The Doctor._

The rest of the world returned to her senses in a rush of sensation. And she found herself on the brink of tears, but she refused to give in. Not yet. Not until the Doctor was safe.

She just had to find him first.

* * *

_No-one expects the Spanish Inquisition._

The phrase occurred to him as he watched women – presumably from the harem – invade the throne room. Though he'd known to expect them, it was still startling to realise that Rose had done it. She'd convinced them to rebel. And, now, he had the perfect distraction.

He dodged out of the way of the Sontaran's fire, yelling at the women to watch out. Screams and the stench of burning flesh filled the once pristine hall and he winced. It was a revolution, yes. At what cost?

Skrrant found himself facing half a dozen angry women who swarmed him in an instance, knocking him to the floor. The scene was being repeated around him, but his attention was on the passage behind the throne. He could see it now, rather obviously hidden behind a tapestry.

But it wasn't the hallway that interested him. It was Rose.

She was facing the King and, though he couldn't hear any words that she might be saying, he could tell that she was on the threshold of doing something vengeful. Something that would add another layer of guilt on both of their psyches. Something that he couldn't let her do.

"Rose!" he shouted, trying to push his way through the fighting. He was blocked, time and again.

He could see the tortured rage in her expression, the memory of past wrongs dancing across her face. She'd carried his memories within her. She knew what he was capable of, what he'd do in her stead. That must've affected her. She'd changed and all because of him.

She was becoming like him…

Then she stopped. He could see her shove herself away from the King, trembling. She hadn't followed through, hadn't killed.

And he couldn't tell if he would've done the same.

The dissonance of battle was fading, leaving in its wake the sounds of sobs and groans of pain. He tore his gaze from Rose, telling himself that he'd go to her soon. First he had to deal with the Sontarans. That was one loose end that he couldn't leave to the locals.

The Sontarans were in a small group, watched carefully by a bloodied woman with dark brown hair. She smiled toothily at him and nodded carefully, making sure she kept the weapon – one of the Sontarans', apparently – trained on her captives.

"See? Told you it wouldn't work. An' you lot? You never listen," he tisked, folding his arms before him as he looked at Skrrant.

None of the Sontarans had escaped unscathed. At least one's feeding tube was damaged and yellow-ish ichor pooled from the wound. "This is not over, Doctor," Skrrant growled.

"Looks over to me," he replied. "'S a bit hard to win when you're held captive. So I'll make you a deal. Leave Yervanos an' never return. 'Cause if you do, I'll hear about it. An' you know my reputation. Bringer of Darkness isn't just a label, y'know. You'll get to learn it's the truth if you don't agree to my terms."

Skrrant looked like he was about to object again, but decided against it. "We will leave, Doctor. But this will not be the last time you see me. Yervanos might be lost to us. However, you will pay for this."

He yawned. "Is it too much to ask for a bit of originality from you lot? Boring! Enough talk. Just leave."

It took a few more minutes of persuasion, and at least one more threat, for the Sontarans to take the hint and leave through their Time Corridor. It took even less time to destroy the technology that kept the Time Corridor open.

The natives could deal with the rest of the mess. Judging by the women he'd seen taking charge, they would be perfectly capable of convincing the King and his courtiers to change their modus operandi.

Much as he wanted to do a little convincing with the King alone, he had a greater concern. Rose was still in the hidden passage, still across from the King, but her eyes were all but dead. The essence of Rose Tyler was hidden from him, and it shot a pang of grief through his hearts.

She might've stopped herself from killing the King in revenge, but what was the cost to her?

His greatest fear was realised in an instant. She'd seen so much at his side, done so much, changed so much.

What if she'd gone too far? What if he couldn't save her?

What if that spark, that aspect that made her Rose Tyler, was gone?

He couldn't deny it this time. Couldn't pretend it wasn't true. If it was, if she was damaged beyond repair, it was all his fault.

And he didn't know if he could live with that.

_To be concluded..._


	10. Chapter 10: Consequences

**Chapter 10: Consequences**

There was something to be said about shock. It had created a cocoon around her wherein no sound, no sight, no awareness could pass unless she allowed it. She knew that the King was still far too close to her, but she didn't want to deal with him or her actions of the previous few minutes. It was far more pleasant to be numb.

It soothed her not to think. Not to consider what she'd almost done. Not to think about the King's hands on her body. It was easier that way. She knew, just through what little sound and sight registered to her, that the fighting was over. The Sontarans were defeated, the King was in shackles and all that was left was dealing with the aftermath.

So she continued to sit, staring at nothing and letting the others handle the consequences of the Sontaran invasion and the King's treachery. Rose knew that this wasn't healthy, but she didn't care. She wasn't ready to face what she'd almost done and what had been done to her. She didn't want to be here. Didn't want to celebrate with the other women their hollow-seeming victory.

She wanted to run.

The feel of a hand caressing her cheek brought her attention back to what was happening around her. The Doctor's fathomless blue eyes stared intently into hers, radiating concern. This was the last thing that she'd wanted. She didn't want him to suffer more guilt, not after seeing the briefest glimpse of what he carried all the time. For him, she mustered the shadow of a smile. "We won?" she asked, surprised by the rasp of her voice.

"Yeah, you did," he replied and she blinked at the answer.

_She_ won? "We did," she corrected.

He shook his head, gently brushing back a strand of her hair. "No, Rose. You did. You didn't give in. You never gave up. An' the King's been de-throned because of it."

"Until when?" she asked bitterly. "Sure, we might've defeated the King now. But it doesn't work that way, Doctor. Defeat 'em for a day, but tomorrow someone else – someone who might be worse – will take his place. Erana told me that it's been like this for years." It was easier to talk about the plight of the women of Yervanos than to let herself dwell on what had happened.

"They'll need to start a revolution. Get popular support. An' I've already told Erana to talk to a bloke that I met in the village. When the Ka Ra Nor was destroyed, the memory matrix should've shattered. Firin an' all the others should have their memories back. With their help, changin' society should be simple."

A revolution. Somehow she doubted it'd be as easy as he'd imagined, but there really wasn't anything that they could do about it. They never stayed. Never faced the consequences of their actions. Just swanned in, did some good, and left – never mind those hurt or killed in the process.

However, she couldn't forget what had happened in this aftermath. She couldn't chalk Yervanos up as another adventure that'd come and gone. It hadn't been an adventure. It'd been a nightmare. And now all she wanted to do was go home. She wanted to go back to the TARDIS, crawl under her duvet, and pretend the world didn't exist for several hours. That, at least, sounded heavenly. "Yeah."

He seemed to understand as he gently helped her to her feet. "Doubt anyone'll miss us if we slip out the back."

Part of her wanted to say goodbye to Izikela and Erana. Another, stronger, part of her wanted nothing more to do with them. They thought it was over. War done, the King defeated. They knew nothing.

She could still feel the King's phantom hands as they groped her and she shivered.

"All right?" the Doctor asked softly as they avoided the others. He kept close to her, but not too close. Almost as if he knew what had happened. As if he knew that she was broken.

"Jus' fine, thanks." It was a lie, of course. He knew it as well as she did. But it was a comfortable lie, something that they could use to maintain the charade. At least until they were back in the TARDIS, she conceded.

She knew that the instant he tried anything else, the instant he touched her or hugged her, she'd fall apart. She was holding on to her composure by a thread and even then she felt herself starting to fracture.

Leaving the palace was simple. Unlike her earlier escape, there were no guards, no-one to challenge them as they boldly walked out the front entrance. She didn't think she could handle another confrontation. Not now. Not after so many weeks perched on the edge of despair and panic. Not after so much time spent worried about the Doctor and herself.

She was supposed to be stronger than this.

When she finally saw the TARDIS looming ahead of them, she felt as if she could sob in relief. Tension and despair and guilt had woven their spell around her and she needed to escape. Needed to run.

She let him open the door and followed him inside, meaning to brush past him with a brief 'see you later' and hide in her room until this was over.

He wouldn't let her.

"Rose?" he asked softly, gently, almost tenderly.

She couldn't… Oh, god, she couldn't. "I…" she tried, but couldn't complete the thought. He was too close and too far away at the same time.

He held out his hand, meeting her gaze with an imploring look. Yet, she didn't know if she could go the distance. If she could touch him, let him touch her, and face the memory of those phantom hands. Of the King's bruising kiss. Of the weeks of hurt and worry and pain that had characterised her existence in the harem.

"Rose." He said her name again in that same gentle tone.

His voice broke her resolve and she found herself reaching out to him. He took her hand, holding it and in turn herself as if he were afraid she might shatter. Her composure was unravelling with each beat of her heart, with each breath, with each thought that battered her mind.

It started with a single tear – an expression of fear, anger, regret, and guilt. Another swiftly followed and another until she found herself crying freely.

She hadn't wanted him to see this. He shouldn't see this. She wanted to spare him, but she couldn't. God help her, she couldn't. She didn't think she could stop, though she fought against the tears. Tried to quell them.

"Don't," he said softly, pulling her into his arms. Instead of the terror that she'd feared she would experience at his touch, at being confined, she felt comforted. It was the Doctor. _Her_ Doctor.

He wouldn't hurt her, couldn't hurt her. And she let go.

* * *

What had he done? She was so strong, his Rose. But even the strongest person had their breaking point.

Now he'd found hers.

_Rassilon_. If there was one thing he'd never wanted for her it was this. To find out the horrors that others were capable of. To experience so much hurt and pain without him there to protect her. He'd done his best, given her what he could, yet even that hadn't been enough to save her.

He closed his eyes, letting his head drop to just barely touch her hair. He'd hurt her. Not intentionally, but he had. She knew so much now. Knew the cruelties of life, the vagaries of existence, and true pain.

She knew what it was like to destroy a world. She knew what it was like to be motivated by revenge. It was to her immense credit that she hadn't fallen down the same path he had. She'd stayed her hand, had let the King live. In her stead, he wouldn't've been as generous.

"He tried to…to rape me." The words were whispered, barely understandable, but their meaning shot another pang of guilt through his hearts.

"Did..." He couldn't complete the question. Dreaded the answer. But if the King had, it didn't matter that he was subdued. Didn't matter if he was in jail or otherwise. The King would answer to him.

"No," she said softly. "No, he didn't. I can still feel him, Doctor. Feel his hands touching me. Feel him kissing me. Feel him tearing at my clothes. And I feel dirty. 'S not me. This isn't me. An' I don't know how to stop it. I feel like a victim." She trembled in his arms and he tightened his hold fractionally in response.

This wasn't his forte. He was best suited to dealing with Sontarans or dictators bent on global (or universal) domination. Not trying to pick up the fractured psyche of the woman he... His companion.

He moved one of his hands, letting the other keep her secure against him, to tilt her chin upwards. He wanted to see her eyes when he spoke to her, needed to see her expression. "You're not, Rose. You fought back, yeah?"

"'Course I did," she replied. "But I had to let him get to a point where he almost…so I could get close. Venusian Aikido came in handy, y'know."

Through her incomplete sentences, he could form a mental image of what she'd done. It tore his soul to realise that she'd had to go through such torture just to escape even as it humbled him to realise how strong she really was. Even in the face of possible rape, she'd fought back and eventually rescued him.

He didn't have the faintest idea of how to respond to that. On Earth, at least, she'd have the benefit of professional counsellors. Someone who knew how to handle this sort of thing. If he mucked this up, he might end up messing her up more than she already was. Maybe her mother could help. Much as he loathed seeing Jackie Tyler again, he had to admit that she was good for Rose.

"D'you," he began, almost hesitantly. "D'you want to see your Mum?"

Her reaction was immediate and almost violent. She struggled briefly in his arms, shaking her head. "No!" Rose took a deep breath and continued in a calmer tone. "No, I jus'…don't think I could handle seein' her. 'S too much."

He was at a loss. What could he do for her? He had no basis for comparison. He'd never been almost raped, but he had been tortured. Several times, in fact. It might be a bit like that, but something told him that right now wisdom and advice wasn't what she needed.

"I'm proud of you, Rose Tyler," he said after a long moment, willing her to believe it. "You fought back an' that doesn't make you a victim at all."

"No?" she asked, her voice catching slightly.

"No. It makes you a survivor." He took a bracing breath, fighting against his normal instinct to remain silent, and spoke softly. "You saved me. Even after all of that, you came to find me. And you saved me."

"You'd do the same for me," she said dismissively. It was almost as if she couldn't see how amazing she was for surviving.

"Yeah, I would," he agreed. "But we're not talkin' about me, Rose. We're talking about you. And what you've done. You're fantastic, y'know. Just fantastic. Because you didn't let him beat you. You survived. You're here. An' we're together."

There it was. The glimmer of a smile as she bashfully accepted his praise. "Thank you," she replied.

"No," he corrected. "Thank _you_." He tightened his embrace again and gave into the urge to press a swift kiss against her forehead. A moment later, he let her go. "Go on, then. Get changed or whatever else you want to do. I know exactly where we're going next."

"Oh?" She looked a little flushed, but he wasn't certain why.

"Yeah," he said. "An' no pasta this time, either."

A real smile appeared on her face. "You still owe me dinner, y'know."

"I do. But, first, there's something you've got to see." He hoped it'd help her as much as it had him. Without waiting for her reply, he hurried to the console and began setting the coordinates.

Letting the pulsing hum of the temporal rotor overwhelm his senses, he let the memory wash over him…

_He kept his eyes on the horizon – at least, what could be considered a horizon on the tiny planet of Trius Major. The planet was ovoid in shape, its strange rotational patterns and bizarre magnetic fields making it difficult for some species to withstand. But for those with a sense of adventure, the reward was worth it._

_Without a moon, Trius's nights were dark and silent. Even the animal life refused to call out during the evenings, preferring to keep their sounds for the dawn. And it was coming. He could feel it in the turn of the planet beneath him, the slight tingling of his senses as he felt the magnetic field spike around him._

_He closed his eyes for a moment as he thought about the girl he'd left behind on Earth such a short time ago. He'd felt the urge for company again, needing that spark of life in his empty ship, but she'd said no. So he let the darkness represent that pang of grief, the loss of Gallifrey, and all of the hurts and pains centuries of living had wrought upon him._

_When he opened his eyes again, he watched as the horizon erupted in colour. Brilliant azures, golden yellows, vibrant reds, purples and all the colours in between lit up the skies as the twin suns rose over Trius._

_The world was transformed and he smiled. It was always darkest before dawn, but the results were worth it._

_With a grin, he turned from the sight some time later. He'd go back for the girl, perhaps mention that he could travel in time._

_He looked forward to the new day._

* * *

Rose stared at herself in the mirror. Her reflection hadn't changed from her earlier examinations of herself, but she felt different. Perhaps it was the tingle that she still felt on her forehead from the memory of the Doctor's kiss. Or, perhaps, it was the realisation that he was right. She'd fought back. She was a survivor.

She'd _won_.

With a lighter heart, she returned to the console room, smiling at him when he turned at the sound of her footstep.

"Ready?" he asked. In his expression she could tell that she only had to say the word and whatever was outside those doors could wait. This was for her. And, well, if he wanted her to see it, she would.

"Always," she said without hesitation, moving to take his hand.

He smiled at her and she could see a wealth of emotion in that one expression. Affection, amusement, concern and something else warred for dominance with none proving the stronger. "Then," he replied, striding to the doors and opening them, "Welcome to Trius Major."

She wasn't certain what she was expecting when she stepped outside, but she was fairly positive that it wasn't this. The landscape seemed to be a uniform dark grey. She supposed she could blame that on the fact that it was a moonless night. However, she decided to try her best to be appreciative. "It's lovely."

The Doctor barked out a laugh. "Liar. 'S not much to look at at night. But the dawn is more than worth it." She could feel him looking at her, though she couldn't see him. "Been here before, y'know. Right after askin' you to come with me, actually."

She blinked. "Really?" He'd come here? Admittedly, it was a time machine. Years could've passed in those ten seconds.

"It's always darkest before the dawn," he told her, catching one of her shoulders with his free hand. Once he'd turned her in the proper direction, he continued, "Watch."

And the sky turned into a rainbow, turning the dreary world around her into one of vibrant colour. This, she realised, was this planet's version of dawn. "It's gorgeous," she breathed. And it was. She could see every colour she knew of and some that she was certain were truly alien on display before her.

A comfortable silence stretched between them as they enjoyed the beauty of the natural display. When the colours started to fade a little, he turned toward her. "Rose, I can't promise that it won't be dangerous or that you might not face someone like the King again."

She realised at that moment that she had his full attention. That was rare enough to send a small thrill through her. She felt as if she were the centre of the universe according to the Doctor, and for all she knew she was. "I don't want you to," she began but he cut her off.

"Nor can I promise you that I can always protect you or keep you safe," he said. "But I can promise you that I'll try to."

"No." She shook her head and faced him, lifting her hand to touch his face. "I'm not the only one that needs protecting, or do I need to remind you about the Sontarans?" He looked as if he were about to protest, but she placed a finger against his lips. It might've just been her imagination, but she thought she felt a small amount of additional pressure – an almost-kiss.

"We protect each other, yeah? An' I don't care if it's dangerous or even if I might face another bloke like the King." She didn't, she realised. Not one bit.

"Why?" He looked astonished as he spoke around her finger.

"Because of this," she said, nodding toward the sunrise. "Because of you. Because of the good we can do. 'S worth it."

"Rose," he started, before apparently deciding that words weren't enough. He gently moved her hand away from his mouth, but not before brushing her knuckles lightly with his lips.

She shivered slightly in reaction, watching him intently. She knew him now, knew how he'd be likely to react in any given situation. This was something new for him, something different. And, behind the confident mask that he projected, she knew he was anything but.

It'd be up to her to take the next step, if there was to be a next step. As much because of the experience she'd just been through as because this, she knew, was something he didn't do as a rule. Wouldn't have done with her before, too. Before she'd held his memories; before she'd truly understood him in a way he could never, _would_ never have explained to her.

The experience she'd just been through... yes, it was horrible and terrifying and earlier she'd fallen apart because of it. But he was right. She was strong. She'd saved herself - and then gone on to save him. The king might've hurt her physically, but he hadn't violated her. He'd just touched her body. That didn't matter. That could heal. What mattered was that he hadn't touched her soul, not where it counted. He hadn't broken her.

He was nothing. He was in her past.

This was the Doctor - a man she knew would never hurt her. He might bring her into danger, might even be responsible for her being hurt. But he would never hurt her himself.

That was it, then. It was time to move on. To prove to herself that her past – and Yervanos was just that, the past – couldn't and wouldn't have a hold over her. That she was strong and in complete control of her body and her reactions - and that she could, if she wanted, show a man that she was attracted to him. Show him affection, even without any sexual element to it.

Still keeping her gaze locked on his, she drew his hand toward her lips, repeating his earlier gesture. The soft sigh that he released was enough to encourage her in her actions. The look in his eyes was more than enough to make her want to drop his hand and kiss him properly.

Yes. She was fine. Unbroken and in control. She _wasn't_ scared of intimacy. And that was such a relief.

He was watching her now, as if he could tell what was going through her mind, as if he understood her struggle and her fear that she might not have been able to consider any kind of closeness with a man again.

"All right?" he murmured, the words soft, little more than a whisper.

"More than all right." She smiled up at him, still holding his hand.

His gaze dropped to her lips and, with a slow, deliberate movement, giving her plenty of time to back away or stop him if she wanted, he lowered his head. His lips touched hers lightly, delicately, almost a butterfly-caress, gentler than she ever imagined he was capable of. And then he pulled back, just a few inches, staying close but not touching her.

She knew what he was doing. It was her choice. He'd left it in her hands. If she was okay with this - if she wanted it, if she felt comfortable - she could touch him. Kiss him. If she wasn't, it'd be okay too. Nothing had changed, not really. Well, other than they understood each other better than ever before, but that'd already happened with her holding his memories.

So she leaned up to him. Touched her lips to his. And he remained perfectly still, letting her take charge. Be in control.

It wasn't a snog. It really wasn't much beyond chaste - she wasn't ready for that yet, not so soon after Yervanos, and she suspected he wasn't entirely ready for their relationship to move to that point either. He was doing this, she somehow knew, to help her feel better about herself.

So she just kissed him, more or less as she would if she was kissing his cheek, only it was on his lips. And then he returned the kiss, bringing his arms around her then in a hug, one hand sliding up her back to tangle in her hair. It was just like the dozens of other hugs they'd shared, and yet it wasn't. It was subtly different. More.

And when the kiss ended, he smiled slowly at her, letting his hand drop from her hair after one last caress to once again re-claim her hand. "'S a beautiful day," he told her and something in his words indicated that it was all that and more because she was with him.

She smiled, catching her tongue between her teeth. "Yeah, yeah it is."

Sharing one last look, they headed back to the TARDIS. No, she corrected herself as she stole a glance at the beauty around her, she wasn't just going back to the ship. It meant more than that to her, just as the Doctor did.

She wasn't just going back to the TARDIS.

She was going home.

**THE END**

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_Thank you to everyone who's reviewed. I'm glad you've enjoyed this:)_**  
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